THE  LIBRARY 

OF 

THE  UNIVERSITY 
OF  CALIFORNIA 

LOS  ANGELES 


THE 


FORGED  WILL; 


OR, 


CHBIB  AND  RBTB1BUT10N. 


BY  EMERSON  BENNETT. 

AUTHOR  OF  "VIOLA,"  "CLARA   MORELAXD,"  "WAL'PE-AVATIKKX,1 
"PIONEER'S  DAUGHTER,"  "PRAIRIE  FLOWER,"  ETC. 


"IF  Emerson  Bennett  had  never  written  his  many  delightful  and  thrilling  stories  of 
border  life,  of  prairie  scenes,  and  Indian  warfare,  this  new  story  of  the  '  FORGED  \Vn.i.' 
would  have  placed  his  name  on  the  record  as  one  of  the  best  of  American  novelist*." 
The  scenes,  principally,  of  this  .most  captivating  novel,  are  laid  in  the  city  of  New- 
York;  and  most  glowingly  the  Author  pictures  to  us  how  the  guilty  may,  for  a  time 
escape  the  justice  of  the  law,  but  only  to  feel  the  heavy  hand  of  retribution  sooner  or 
later;  how  vice  may,  for  a  time,  triumph  over  virtue,  but  only  for  a  time:  how  rrimi> 
may  lie  concealed,  until  its  very  security  breeds  exposure;  how  true  virtue  gives 
no  temptation,  but  bears  the  ills  of  life  with  patience,  hoping  for  a  better  day.  ami  re- 
joices triumphant  in  the  end.  In  short,  from  base  hypocrisy  he  tears  the  veil  that  hides 
its  huge  deformity,  and  gives  a  true  picture  of  life  as  it  exists  in  the  crowded  city.  \Ve  do- 
cordially  recommend  this  book  for  its  excellent  moral.  It  is  one  that  should  be  circulated, 
for  it  must  do  good." 

"The  Forged  Will  is  one  of  the  most  thrilling  native  productions  that  we  have  ever 
read,  and  yet  the  incidents  are  so  true  to  nature,  so  life-like,  that  the  reader  can  scarcely 
realize  the  fact  that  he  is  reading  fiction.  The  sketches  of  the  '  Abode  of  the  Unfortunnt  ••.' 
and  of  the  interview  between  the  '  Betrayer  and  his  Victim,'  possess  the  most  absorb!]  .; 
interest.  The  writer  has  a  happy  faculty  of  holding  his  moral  steadily  before  the  reader. 
He  never  allows  virtuous  precepts  to  linger  far  behind  the  recital  of  vicious  practices. 
Both  are  found  in  close  contiguity.  His  light  and  shade  form  a  complete  picture.  'This 
is  an  admirable  quality." — Philadelphia  Weekly  Dollar  Xewnpuper. 


T.   B.    PETERSON,   NO.    102   CHESTNUT   STREET. 


Entered  according  to  Act  of  Congress,  in  the  year  1853,  by 
EMERSON    BENNETT, 

In  the  Clerk's  Office  of  the  District  Court  of  the  United  States, 
in  and  for  the  Eastern  District  of  Pennsylvania. 


PHILADELPHIA  : 

STEREOTYPED  BY  GEORGE  CHARLES. 
PRINTED  BY  KINO  *  BAIRD. 


CONTENTS. 


CHAPTER    I. 
THE  HYPOCRITE  UNMASKED,  9 

CHAPTER    II. 
THE  HOUSE  OF  DEATH, 23 

CHAPTER    III. 
THE  LIVING  MOURNERS, 33 

CHAPTER    IV. 
THE  PAST  RECALLED, 45 

CHAPTER    V 
PLANS  FOR  THE  FUTURE, 58 

CHAPTER    VI. 
AN  UNEXPECTED  FRIEND, 69 

CHAPTER    VII. 

THE  HYPOCRITE  AND  HIS  TOOL, 79 

CHAPTER    VIII. 

NEW    AND    STRANGE    ADVENTURES, 93 

CHAPTER    IX. 
THE  ABODE  OF  THE  UNFORTUNATE, 104 

CHAPTER    X. 
THE  BETRAYER  AND  HIS  VICTIM, 116 

CHAPTER    XI. 
REWARD  OF  DARING 127 

CHAPTER    XII. 

FORTUNE  STILL  PROPITIOUS, 140 

(7) 

1318087 


CONTENTS. 


CHAPTER    XIII. 
THE  PLOT  THICKENS 151 

CHAPTER    XIV. 
TUB  ARREST,  . .' '. 164 

CHAPTER    XV. 
THE  PLOT  AND  THE  TRAITOR, 172 

CHAPTER    XVI. 
THE  ABDUCTION,  183 

CHAPTER    XVII. 
THE  HAPPT  DELIVERANCE .*. 197 

CHAPTER  -XVIII. 
DIAMOND  CUT  DIAMOND, 209 

CHAPTER    XIX. 
THE  EXAMINATION, 219 

CHAPTER    XX. 
THE  DAMNING  DEED, 230 

CHAPTER    XXI. 
THE  INQUEST, 245 


CHAPTER    XXII. 


THE  GUILTY  IN  TROUBLE, 254 

CHAPTER    XXIII. 
THE  MURDERER  AND  THE  MURDERED, 261 

CHAPTER    XXIV. 
HYPOCRISY  AND  CRIME, 265 

CHAPTER    XXV. 
THE  FORGERY, 272 

CHAPTER    XXVI. 
THE  LOVERS, 286 

CHAPTER    XXVII. 
CONCLUSION,  .  296 


THE  FORGED  WILL; 

OE, 

CRIME  AND  RETRIBUTION. 


CHAPTER  I. 

v 

THE    HYPOCRITE    UNMASKED. 

IT  was  a  dark  and  stormy  night  in  the  month  of  Novem- 
ber, 18 — .  To  simply  say  it  was  dark  and  stormy,  conveys 
but  a  faint  idea  of  what  the  night  was  in  reality.  The 
clouds  were  inky  black,  and  charged  with  a  vapor,  which 
freezing  as  it  descended,  spread  an  icy  mantle  over  every 
thing  exposed.  The  wind  was  easterly  and  fierce,  and  drove 
the  sleety  hail  with  a  velocity  that  made  it  any  thing  but 
pleasant  to  be  abroad.  Signs  creaked,  windows  rattled, 
lamps  nickered  and  became  dim,  casting  here  and  there  long 
ghostly  shadows,  that  seemed  to  dance  fantastically  to  the 
music  of  the  rushing  winds,  as  they  whistled  through  some 
crevice,  moaned  down  some  chimney,  or  howled  along  some 
deserted  alley  on  their  mad  career.  It  was,  take  it  all  in 
all,  a  dismal  night,  and  such  an  one  as,  with  a  comfortable 
shelter  over  our  heads  and  a  cheerful  fire  before  us,  is  apt 
to  make  us  thank  God  we  are  not  forced  to  be  abroad  like 

(9) 


10  THE   FORGED   WILL. 


the  poor  houseless  wretches  who  have  no  place  to  lay  their 
heads.  It  is  too  much  the  case  at  such  times,  that  we  con- 
gratulate ourselves  on  being  far  better  off  than  they,  with- 
out taking  into  consideration  that  it  is  our  duty,  as  humane 
beings,  to  render  them  as  comfortable  as  our  circumstances 
will  permit.  But  who  thinks  of  the  poor  ?  God  cares  for 
them,  say  the  rich,  and  that  is  enough. 

But  dark  and  disagreeable  as  was  the  night  alluded  to, 
there  was  one  who  strode  rapidly  through  the  almost  de- 
serted streets  of  New  York,  seemingly  unmindful  of  the 
storm,  and  wholly  occupied  with  thoughts  of  his  own; 
whether  bright  and  cheerful,  or  dark  and  gloomy  as  the 
storm  itself,  will  presently  be  seen. 

At  the  moment  we  have  chosen  to  introduce  him  to  the 
reader,  he  was  picking  his  way  along  a  narrow,  dark  and 
filthy  street,  that  led  from  the  vicinity  of  Five  Points  to  a 
more  open  thoroughfare,  which,  crossing  it  at  right  angles, 
traversed  a  great  portion  of  the  city  between  the  North 
and  East  rivers.  On  reaching  this  latter,  known  as  Grand 
street,  he  turned  to  the  left,  and  in  a  few  minutes  was 
standing  at  its  junction  with  the  still  larger  and  more 
fashionable  throroughfare  of  Broadway.  Here  he  made  a 
momentary  pause,  and  cast  his  eyes  to  the  right  and  left, 
while  something  like  a  heavy  sigh  escaped  him.  All  was 
gloomy  as  before  ;  for  though  an  early  hour  in  the  evening, 
even  Broadway  was  nearly  deserted ;  and  only  a  few  strag- 
glers, with  here  and  there  an  omnibus  or  close-shut  hack~ 
rattling  swiftly  past,  as  if  the  drivers  cared  little  to  pause 
or  seek  for  passengers,  met  his  eager  gaze.  Turning  to  the 
right,  our  wayfarer  pushed  up  Broadway  with  a  quickened 
pace,  as  if  reminded  by  some  inward  monitor  he  had  been 
moving  too  tardily.  Looking  now  neither  to  his  right  hand 
nor  left,  but  with  his  head  bowed  on  his  bosom  to  avoid  the 
peltings  of  the  storm,  he  still  pressed  on  for  several  squares, 


THE   HYPOCRITE    UNMASKED.  11 

when  he  came  to  a  beautiful  street,  of  splendid  private 
residences.  Here  again  he  paused  for  a  few  seconds,  and 
looked  wistfully  down  its  now  deserted  walks,  as  if  he  felt 
a  secret  hesitation  in  going  further.  Then,  as  if  suddenly 
influenced  by  another  thought  he  darted  more  rapidly  than 
ever  along  the  slippery  pavement,  and  in  less  than  five 
minutes  stood  before  a  splendid  mansion — the  secluded 
abode  of  wealth,  ease  and  refinement.  As  he  halted  at  the 
foot  of  the  marble  steps,  and  cast  his  eyes  up  to  a  window 
where  a  soft  light  faintly  stole  through  a  rich  damask  cur- 
tain, he  sighed  audibly,  ran  his  hand  quickly  across  his 
forehead,  and  seemed  even  then  almost  uncertain  whether  to 
advance  or  retire.  But  his  decision  was  soon  made ;  and 
springing  up  the  steps  in  haste,  he  rang  the  bell  with  a  hand^ 
made  nervous  by  agitation. 

In  due  time,  a  sleek,  well-dressed,  well-fed  negro,  some 
thirty  years  of  age,  whose  .general  characteristics  bespoke 
the  darky  dandy,  cautiously  opened  the  door,  as  if  either 
fearful  of  the  storm  or  the  visitor ;  but  no  sooner  was  it 
open,  than  the  young  man — for  such  the  light  of  the  hall 
revealed  him  to  be — sprang  inside  to  the  no  little  dismay 
and  astonishment  of  the  black,  who  was  about  to  make 
some  impertinent  remark,  but  which  the  other  prevented 
by  saying  hastily ; 

"  Excuse  me,  Jeff;  I  have  no  time  to  stand  on  ceremonies. 
Is  your  master  at  home  ?" 

It  is  impossible  to  portray  the  look  of  the  indignant 
scorn  with  which  the  negro  greeted  this-abrupt  apology  and 
interrogation.  Drawing  himself  up  with  a  proud  air,  he 
cast  a  supercilious  glance  over  the  person  of  the  intruder, 
from  head  to  foot  and  from  foot  to  head,  looking  hard  at 
his  thread-bare  garments,  the  remnants  of  better  days,  and 
then  answered  rather  disdainfully : 

"  See  here,  Edgar  Courtly,  you  fo'get  you'sef.     When 


12  THE   FOKGED   WILL. 

I's  \vid  my  ekals,  I's  called  Misser  Jeffrey  Pomfret,  and 
none  of  dem  familiar  Jeff's,  only  by  gemmen  as  is  gemmen. 
And  as  to  massa,  I's  hab  you  know  as  how  dis  child  hab 
nothin  to  do  wid  dem  vulgar  names.  I  is  free  nigger  now, 
and  massa  am  done  gone  long  time  ago." 

The  pale  features  of  the  young  man  flushed,  his  dark 
eyes  flashed,  his  hand  opened  and  shut  convulsively,  as  he 
heard  these  insulting  words,  and  for  a  moment  he  seemed 
on  the  point  of  punishing  the  negro  for  his  insolence;  but 
then,  remembering  where  he  was,  and  the  object  he  had  in 
coming  hither,  he  smothered  his  indignation  and  calmly 
replied : 

"  Once,  Mr.  Jeffrey  Pomfret,  as  you  are  pleased  to  term 
yourself,  such  language  from  you  to  me  would  have  cost 
you  a  severe  chastisement ;  but  things  have  altered  since, 
and  so  let  it  pass.  Is  Mr.  Atherton  at  home?" 

"  'Spose  he  am?"  returned  Jeff,  doggedly. 

"  Then  tell  him  I  wish  to  speak  with  him  without  a  mo- 
ment's delay." 

"  You-you  tink  he  see  you  ?"  asked  Jeff,  shaking  his 
head. 

"Do  as  you  are  bid,"  rejoined  the  young  man  sharply, 
"  or,  be  the  consequences  what  they  may,  I  will  teach  you 
a  lesson  you  will  not  soon  forget ;"  and  clenching  his  hand, 
he  took  a  step  or  two  towards  the  negro,  who,  perceiving 
the  matter  was  approaching  a  crisis,  slowly  departed  on  his 
errand,  muttering  as  he  went  something  about  impertinence 
of  poor  relations,  until  his  person  had  disappeared  up  the 
stairs  leading  from  the  hall  to  the  chambers  above. 

As  soon  as  he  was  out  of  sight,  young  Courtly  folded  his 
arms  on  his  breast,  and  with  brows  rather  closely  knit,  in 
silence  awaited  his  return.  In  short  time  the  negro  made 
his  appearance,  and,  iigfc  rather  pompous  tone,  said: 


THE   HYPOCRITE   UNMASKED.  13 

"  Misser  Atherton  says  you  please  excuse  him,  case  he 
am  engaged." 

"  I  will  not  excuse  him,"  returned  young  Edgar,  in  a 
sharp  tone  of  indignation,  while  his  face  reddened  and  his 
dark  eyes  flashed  defiance.  "  I  came  here  to  see  him,  and 
I  will  not  depart  without.  Tell  him  so  !" 

"No!  no!  I'll  not  go  near  him  wid  dat  message,"  re- 
turned Jeff,  "case  dis  child's  head  would  be  brokum." 

"  Then  I  will  seek  him  where  he  is,"  rejoined  Edgar 
Courtly.  "  Show  me  his  apartment !" 

"  Best  not  go,  Misser  Edgar !" 

"  Do  as  I  bid  you!" 

"  Well,  den,  fust  room  on  de  leff." 

With  this  the  young  man  advanced  to  the  staircase,  and 
ascended  it  with  an  unfaltering  step.  On  reaching  the 
floor  above,  he  paused  at  the  first  door  on  the  left,  and 
rapped.  On  hearing  a  voice  say  "  Come  in,"  he  entered 
a  splendidly  furnished  apartment,  whose  bright  and  cheer- 
ful appearance  formed  an  imposing  contrast  to  the  howling, 
dismal  night  without.  Everything  of  refined  comfort  was 
here  profusely  displayed ;  but  as  all  tastefully  arranged 
apartments  are  much  alike,  it  will  be  unnecessary  for  us 
to  describe  it  minutely.  A  bright  coal  fire  was  burning 
in  the  grate,  in  front  of  which,  at  some  little  distance, 
stood  .an  elegant  marble  centre-table,  strewn  with  books 
and  papers.  By  this  table,  on  the  entrance  of  Edgar 
Courtly,  sat  two  persons — a  lady  just  blooming  into  woman- 
hood, and  a  gentleman  some  forty-five  years  of  age — the 
former  engaged  in  reading  a  book,  and  the  latter  in 
perusing  a  newspaper.  The  eyes  of  both  simultaneously 
rested  upon  the  intruder,  when  the  lady,  rising  from  her 
seat,  passed  out  of  the  room  by  a  side  door,  leaving  the 
gentlemen  alone  to  themselves.  *.*Wjth  their  eyes  bent 
sternly  on  each  other,  and  a  frown  gathering  on  the  brow 
2 


14  THE   FORGED   WILL. 

of  each,  for  a  short  time  the  occupant  and  his  unwelcome 
guest  remained  silent — a  period  \ve  will  improve  in  de- 
scribing their  personal  appearance. 

We  have  said  that  the  gentleman  by  the  table  was  a 
man  some  forty-five  years  of  age,  and  consequently  scarcely 
turned  the  full  vigor  of  intellectual  manhood.  His  appear- 
ance, however,  was,  in  some  respects,  in  advance  of  his 
years;  for  his  head  was.  partially  bald,  and  partially 
covered  with  thin,  gray  hairs.  Whether  this  was  the 
result  of  unassisted  nature,  or  had  been  brought  about  by 
perplexity,  fright,  grief,  trouble,  scheming  or  care,  we 
shall  not  pause  here  to  determine,  but  simply  chronicle  the 
fact.  His  features,  generally,  were  regular,  and  of  that 
peculiar  cast  which  would  make  them  prepossessing  or 
otherwise,  according  to  the  mood  or  will  of  the  owner. 
There  was  no  lack  of  intellect  in  the  prevailing  expression 
of  the  countenance,  and  the  forehead  was  high  and  broad. 
His  eyes  were  of  a  clear,  cold,  blue,  that  would  not  be 
likely  to  impress  you  favorably,  unless  rather  softly  twink- 
ling under  the  veil  of  hypocrisy,  which  none  could  better 
and  more  readily  assume  than  he.  His  mouth  and  chin 
were  rather  handsome,  and  the  former  well  filled  with 
white,  regular  teeth,  visible  at  every  smile,  which  smile 
was  ofterf  present  to  cover  some  hidden,  devilish  design. 
Take  him  all  in  all,  Oliver  Atherton  was  a  character  you 
would  need  to  study  long  and  well  to  properly  understand; 
and  even  then,  with  a  deep  knowledge  of  human  nature, 
and  a  keen,  quick  perception  of  the  true  state  of  the  heart 
from  outward  signs,  ten  to  one  you  would  give  him  credit 
for  being  a  far  better  man  than  would  his  recording  angel. 
But  it  is  not  our  desig^  to  point  out  here  his  virtues,  his 
faults,  or  his  characteristics.  He  must  speak  and  act 
throughout  our  story  in  propria  personse,  and  the  reader 
can  be  his  own  judge  in  the  end.  With  the  additional 


THE    HYPOCRITE   UXMASKED.  15 

statement  that  in  person  he  was  portly,  and  of  an  air  to 
command  respect  among  strangers,  we  turn  to  Edgar 
Courtly. 

In  stature  the  latter  was  slightly  above  medium,  possess- 
ing a  fine,  manly  form,  and  a  dignified  bearing,  that  would 
have  benefitted  one  his  senior  by  ten  years.  No  one,  not 
even  the  most  casual  observer,  could  mistake  him  for  a 
common  character, — for  one  of  that  herd  of  human  beings 
who  are  as  much  alike  as  the  pebbles  on  the  sea-washed 
beach.  His  features  were  pale  and  haggard,  as  if  from 
some  corroding,  inward  struggle — a  painful,  constant  labor 
of  the  mind,  which  bears  the  body  onward  to  premature 
decay.  Yet  this  appearance  did  not  set  ill  upon  him,  but 
rather  increased  that  look  of  lofty,  noble  intellectuality, 
which  lighted  his  countenance,  and  shone  in  his  dark,  elo- 
quent, hazel  eye.  His  forehead  was  broad  and  massive, 
and  though  not  remarkably  high,  was  expressive  of  bril- 
liant and  vigorous  thought.  As  he  stood  before  the  other, 
his  eye  fixed  intently  on  him,  there  was  a  slight  contrac- 
tion of  his  handsome  brows,  and  a  compression  of  his  thin, 
bloodless  lips,  expressive  of  a  determination  to  push  to  the 
end  the  task  he  had  imposed  upon  himself  in  thus  coming 
into  the  presence  of  one,  who,  if  not  an  absolute  foe,  could 
by  no  means  be  regarded  as  a  tricnd.  And  as  the  two  stood 
and  stared  upon  each  other,  the  selfish,  scheming  look  of 
the  worldly  man  found  as  great  a  contrast  in  the  bold, 
noble,  open,  yet  passionate  countenance  of  the  youth,  as 
didjhis  elegant  broadcloth,  starched  linen,  and  white,  sys- 
tematically-tied neckcloth,  in  the  negligent,  threadbare, 
faded  garments  of  the  other. 

"Well,  sir?"  said  Mr.  Atherton,  at  length,  throwing 
down  his  paper  writh  an  angry  gesture,  and  pausing  as  if 
for  the  other  to  state  his  business.  "  Well,  sir,"  he  re- 
sumed in  a  sharper  tone,  as  the  young  man,  dropping  hig 


1G  THE   FORGED   WILL. 

eyes  to  the  floor,  did  not  seem  in  haste  to  reply,  "  to  what 
am  I  indebted  for  this  intrusion  of  Edgar  Courtly  ?" 

"Pardon  me!"  answered  the  young  man,  in  a  subdued 
tone,  closing  the  door  and  taking  a  few  steps  forward,  but 
still  with  his  eyes  cast  down.  "  I  am  sorry  sir,  that  cir- 
cumstances have  forced  me  to  intrude  myself  in  this 
manner,  but " 

"Stop!"  interrupted  the  other,  bluntly;  "you  make 
use  of  wrong  phrases.  There  are  no  circumstances,  young 
man,  let  me  tell  you,  which  can  force  a  person,  well  brought 
up,  beyond  the  rules  of  good  breeding.  No  man  of  honor, 
sir,  with  a  spark  of  the  gentleman  in  him,  could  by  any 
means  be  induced  to  intrude  himself  on  another,  when 
previously  informed  of  that  other's  desire  not  to  be  dis- 
turbed." 

"  Well,  sir,  as  you  will — but  at  present  I  have  more 
urgent  matters  than  a  disputation  on  a  trifling  point  of  eti- 
quette. I  came  here,  to  this  house,  sir,  to  see  you,  sent  a 
message  to  you  to  that  effect,  and  not  succeeding  by  that 
means  in  bringing  you  to  me,  have  taken  the  liberty  of 
calling  on  you  in  your  own  apartment." 

"  At  the  risk  of  being  kicked  down  stairs  for  your 
trouble,"  retorted  the  other,  flushing  with  anger. 

"No,  I  do  not  think  I  run  any  such  risk,"  rejoined 
Edgar,  giving  the  other  such  a  firm,  cool,  determined  look, 
that  he  moved  uneasily  in  his  seat,  let  his  eyes  sink  to  the 
floor,  and  slightly  coughed,  by  way  of  filling  up  the, 
unpleasant  interval,  and  reassuring  himself.  "  I  hardly 
think  I  run  any  such  risk,"  pursued  the  young  man, 
approaching  the  table,  and  even  bending  over  it,  as  he  added 
the  sarcastic  interrogation :  "Doyow,  Mr.  Atherton?" 

"Ahem!"  growled  the  other;  "ahe-e-m!  Come,  come 
— what  does  all  this  mean  ? — What  is  it  you  want  here 
with  me  at  this  time  of  night,  Edgar  Courtly  ?" 


THE   HYPOCRITE   UNMASKED.  17 

"Justice,"  answered  young  Edgar,  promptly. 

"  How,  «ir  ?  in  what  way  ?  what' do  you  mean  ?" 

"  My  mother,  sir,  I  fear  is  dying." 

"Well?"  was  the  cold  response. 

"  Well,  say  you  !"  cried  the  other,  with  a  burst  of  indig- 
nation. "  Well,  say  you !  By  heavens,  sir,  it  is  not  well, 
but  most  wofully  ill !  My  mother,  I  say,  I  fear  is  dying, 
and  without  the  comforts  of  life,  without  medicine,  without 
proper  food,  and  without  fire.  Think  of  that  on  such  a 
night  as  this !" 

"  Well  ?"  was  the  rejoinder  again. 

"I  came  here  for  money,  sir — the  filthy  dross  of  the 
earth,  which,  by  its  poterrt  charm,  can  command  all  mortal 
aid." 

"  And  why  herejBphy  come  you  to  me  ?  Have  I  not 
forbid  you  my  house  ?" 

"And  why  to  you?"  repeated  the  other,  indignantly, 
taking  no  heed  of  the  last  insult ;  "  because,  unfortunately, 
the  blood  of  my  mother  runs  in  your  veins.  She  is  your 
sister." 

"  'Tis  false  !"  cried  the  man  of  wealth ;  "  false  as  a  two- 
faced  evil  spirit.  She  is  not  my  sister  :  I  have  disowned 
her :  I  did  so  on  the  day  she  threw  herself  away  upon 
your  father." 

The  young  man  reddened  at  this,  bit  his  lips,  and  for  a 
few  minutes  seemed  almost  vainly  struggling  to  command 
his  temper.  He  succeeded,  however,  at  last,  and  then 
said,  in  a  low  tone,  with  forced  calmness  : 

"  Ay,  you  did  disown  her,  as  you  say  ;  and  well  for  her 
and  all  others  concerned  had  you  stopped  there,  and  not 
carried  your  dark,  double-dealing  villainy  any  further. 
You  disowned  her  for  a  time,  played  the  villain  openly,  and 
afterwards  acted  the  still  more  villainous  part  of  a  hypo- 
crite. You  disowned  vour  sister  because  she  had  married 
2 


18  THE   FORGED   WILL. 

a  poor  man ;  but  when  you  found  that,  by  good  fortune, 
energy  and  perseverance,  my  father  was  in  a  fair  way  to 
amass  a  handsome  competence^  you  thought  it  wise  to  play 
the  fawning  sycophant,  that  you  might  ingratiate  yourself 
with  him,  and  rob  him  of  his  honest  earnings.  You  played 
the  penitent — said  you  had  been  hasty — that  you  regretted 
what  you  had  done,  and  hoped  all  would  be  overlooked. 
In  short,  you  worked  upon  the  noble  nature  of  my  father, 
until  he  was  led  to  think  you  a  conscientious,  honest  man, 
and  took  you  into  his  confidence,  only  to  be  stung  at  last, 
as  when  one  clasps  a  serpent  to  his  bosom.  Yes,  sir,  my 
father  was  wealthy,  as  you  know,  and  as  you  alone  know  to 
what  extent.  Reposing  at  last  every  confidence  in  you,  he 
left  you  in  charge  of  all  his  affairs^nd  went  abroad  on 
business.  The  vessel  he  sailed  fH^nras  lost,  and  all 
perished ;  and  when  this  news  reachea  you,  then  it  was  you 
showed  your  cloven  foot ;  then  it  was  you  threw  off  in  part 
the  n^ask,  and  in  part  revealed  yourself  a  devil  incarnate. 
Suddenly  then  you  discovered  my  father  had  left  a  will, 
by  which,  after  a  small  pittance  to  my  mother,  sister  and 
myself,  you  became  sole  heir  to  his  vast  possessions. ' 
You  grieved  sorely  about  his  death,  as  every  one  could  see 
by  your  solemn,  pale  face  and  sable  robes,  and  by  the 
punctilious  manner  in  which  you  administered  on  his  last 
will  and  testament,  claiming  to  a  cent  every  thing  to  which 
you  had  now  a  legal  right,  even  to  the  mansion  my  nearly 
distracted  mother  then  inhabited.  All  this  you  did  with  a 
smooth,  oily  tongue,  but  wobegone  countenance,  saying  it 
was  not  for  the  property  you  sought — that  you  cared 
nothing  about  that — but  that  all  you  did  was  simply  done 
to  carry  out  the  desires  of  your  dearly  adored,  but  unfor- 
tunate brother  ;  that  when  every  thing  should  have  become 
satisfactorily  settled,  you  would  present  your  sister  the 
estate,  and  every  thing  should  go  on  as  smoothly  as  before. 


THE   HYPOCRITE   UNMASKED.  19 

Did  you  do  this  ?  Ask  your  own  self-condemning  con- 
science, if  you  have  one.  Did  you  do  this?  Let  the 
widow's  prayers  and  orphans'  tears  answer.  Did  you  do 
this  ?  Turn  to  the  great  Register  of  Heaven,  on  which 
all  good  and  evil  deeds  are  written,  and  see  if  you  can 
trace  aught  there  commendable.  Did  you  do  this  ?  No, 
base  hypocrite  !  as  I  now  tell  you  to  your  teeth  you  are, 
you  did  no  such  thing.  On  one  pretence  and  another,  you 
disposed  of  the  property  and  removed  to  this  city,  where 
you  have  been,  and  are  still,  living  on  your  ill-gotten  gains ; 
and  where  you  promised,  if  my  mother  would  follow,  you 
would  support  her  handsomely.  Thinking  you  might  have 
a  particle  of  humanity  in  your  composition,  and  would 
restore  her  in  parjwf^i  was  rightfully  her  own,  she  sold  her 
effects  and  came  hither,  only  to  find  herself  and  children 
beggars,  and  whonycGsowned  by  a  miscreant  brother." 

The  young  man  was  still  on  the  point  of  proceeding 
further,  when  the  other,  unable  to  endure  more,  sprung 
from  his  seat,  and,  with  demoniac  rage  depicted  on  his 
countenance,  exclaimed : 

"  Hold,  rash  boy  !  or,  by  the  living  powers,  I'll  have 
you  ejected  from  my  presence  as  I  would  an  assassin  !" 

"Nay,"  returned  Edgar,  coolly,  "do  not  get  in  a  pas- 
sion, Mr.  Atherton — uncle  I  will  not  call  you,  since  you 
deny  relationship, — do  not  be  uneasy,  sir,  but  sit  down  and 
hear  me  out,  for  the  worst  is  still  to  come.  Nay,  no 
frowns,  for  they  will  not  intimidate  me  in  the  least,  and 
can  therefore  do  you  no  service.  Nay,  furthermore,  do 
not  attempt  to  leave  the  room,  nor  to  call  assistance  here, 
or  I  will  not  be  answerable  for  the  consequences — and  just 
now  I  am  somewhat  of  a  desperate  individual,  Mr.  Ather- 
ton. There,  that  is  right,"  he  added,  as,  after  some 
"hesitation,  the  other  at  length  resumed  his  seat ;  "  now  I 
will  proceed  in  brief: 


20  THE   FORGED   WILL. 

"I  have  said,  Mr.  Atherton,  that  so  soon  as  it  was 
ascertained  my  father  was  dead,  you  somehow  mysteriously 
discovered  a  will,  which  made  you  principal  heir  to  his 
possessions.  Now,  although  this  was  found  in  due  form, 
bearing  his  signature  and  that  of  several  witnesses ;-  and 
although  in  turning  to  the  court  register  it  was  found 
entered  the  day  previous  to  his  setting  sail  for  the  conti- 
nent, still,  good  Mr.  Atherton,  since  I  must  speak  the 
truth,  I  grieve* to  say  there  were  not  wanting  those  hase 
enough  to  insinuate  to  my  mother  and  myself,  that  Ethan 
Courtly,  my  sainted  father,  never  had  the  honor  of  reading 
a  line  of  it,  or  in  fact  of  knowing  he  had  set  his  hand  to 
any  such  document." 

"But — but,"  gasped  the  other,  turning  pale  with  excite- 
ment, "you — you ' 

"Pray  do  not  get  in  a  passion,"  pursued  Edgar.  "Keep 
cool,  Mr.  Atherfon,  keep  cool.  I  know  you  would  ask  if 
I  believe  any  such  base  insinuations.  The  fact  is,  you 
see,  just  now  it  is  perfectly  immaterial  what  I  believe.  I 
have  no  time  to  say  further,  than  that  I  came  here  for 
money,  and  money  I  must  have— or,  make  me,  Mr.  Ather- 
ton, the  most  heavy  of  consequences  shall  rest  on  your 
head.  If  you  ever  did  any  wrong  in  your  life — mind,  now, 
I  say  if — (and  the  dark  hazle  eye  of  young  Edgar  was 
fixed  piercingly  upon  the  other,  as  if  to  read  his  very 
soul,)  you  doubtless  had  some  assistance  ;  and  it  sometimes 
happens  that  tools  turn  traitors.  Some  things  are  known. 
Do  you  understand  me  ?  I  came  for  money.  Can  I  have 
it?" 

The  abrupt  manner  in  which  the  young  man  concluded, 
the  peculiar  emphasis  he  laid  upon  certain  words,  and  the 
peculiar  look  which  accompanied  them,  implied  he  knew 
far  more  than  he  chose  then  to  reveal;  and  produced  a 
curious  effect  upon  his  uncle ;  insomuch  that  he  changed 


THE   HYPOCRITE   UNMASKED. 


21* 


color  often,  dropped  his  eyes  to  the  ground,  moved  uneasily 
in  his  seat,  and  allowed  himself  to  be  perceptibly  embar- 
rassed. At  the  last  question  he  started  suddenly,  and 
answered  rather  quickly : 

"  Certainly,  certainly — how  much  do  you  want?"  And 
then,  bethinking  he  had- thrown  himself  off  his  guard,  he 
as  quickly  added :  "  That  is — I — I  must  say — that — that 
-7-1  am  willing  to  assist  my  sister — or  your  mother,  I 
should  say — some — but  do  not  feel  able  to  do  so  to  any 
great  extent  at  present :  in  fact,  to  tell  the  truth,  have  no 
funds  at  all  about  me — but  if  you  will  call " 

"Nay,"  interrupted  the  other,  "  I  will  manage  that. 
Just  give  me  your  check  for  a  certain  amount." 

"  Certainly  I  would — but — "  began  the  other,  and  then 
stopping,  as  a  sudden  thought  struck  him,  (which  must 
have  been  prompted  by  the  devil,  if  one  might  judge  by 
the  deep,  sinister  smile  that  curled  for  a  mfiment  around  his 
mouth,  shone  in  his  eyes,  and  then  vanished  like  one's 
breath  from  a  mirror,)  he  added  :  "  Certainly  I  will — let 
me  see  !—  yes,  I  will  do  it ;"  add  going  to  his  escritoire, 
he  wrote  a  few  lines  and  handed  them  to  the  young  man, 
with  the  injunction  to  trouble  him  no  more,  but  hie  to  his 
mother  and  relieve  her  as  soon  as  possible. 

Glancing  at  the  paper,  Edgar  Courtly  was  surprised  to 
discover  it  a  check  for  one  thousand  dollars  on  a  banker  in 
Wall  street.  The  first  impulse  of  his  generous  soul,  was 
to  seize  his  uncle's  hand  and  crave  pardon  for  all  he  had 
said,  and  own  he  had  done  him  wrong ;.  but  then,  remem- 
bering the  peculiar  manner  by  which  the  other  had  been 
wrought  to  this  liberality,  he  altered  his  intention  and 
simply  said : 

"Sir,  I  thank  you!  Good  night!"  and  with  the  last 
words  he  opened  the  door  and  disappeared. 

"  Ha,  ha !"  laughed  Oliver  Atherton,  as  the  form  he 
2* 


99 


THE   FORGED   WILL. 


hated  quitted  his  sight;  "you  thank  me,  do  you,  you 
little  know  for  what.  Well,  Edgar  Courtly,  you  triumph 
now  in  your  own  conceit ;  hut  my  turn  will  come  next ;  and 
then — and  then — "  and  shaking  his  head,  with  a  dark 
smile,  hut  leaving  the  sentence  unfinished,  he  resumed  his 
seat  at  the  tahle,  and  turned  again  to  his  paper,  as  though 
nothing  had  occurred  to  disturb  his  equanimity. 


CHAPTER  II. 

THE   HOUSE   OF   DEATH. 

IN  a  dingy,  filthy  street,  known  to  those  familiar  with 
New  York  as  Mott,  there  stood,  among  a  great  many 
others  of  the  same  class,  an  old,  dilapidated,  wooden 
structure,  which,  though  it  could  scarcely  bear  the  title  of 
dwelling,  was  used  as  such,  or  rather  as  an  abode,  by  a  few 
miserable  tenants,  whose  poverty  precluded  the  possibility 
of  their  seeking  one  more  pleasant  and  commodious.  Since 
its  erection,  the  street  whereon  it  stood  had  been  some- 
what raised,  which  gave  to  the  building  the  appearance  of 
being  sunk  into  the  earth  some  two  or  three  feet.  Its 
windows  could  hardly  boast  a  sound  pane  of  glass — in  some 
cases  not  any — and  the  door  of  entrance  was  broken  from 
its  hinges.  There  was  no  fear  of  thieves  here,  for  the 
simple  reason  that  there  was  nothing  within  worth  the 
trouble  of  stealing ;  and  hence  the  tenants  lived  less  in 
dread  of  their  neighbors  than  of  the  elements,  whose  cold 
penetration,  on  such  a  night  as  we  have  described  in  the 
opening  chapter,  was  any  thing  but  agreeable.  Between 
this  building  and  a  similar  one  on  the  left,  ran  a  narrow, 
filthy  alley,  communicating  with  a  miserable  hovel  in  the 
rear,  containing  only  two  apartments,  badly  ventilated  and 
poorly  lighted.  To  this  latter  we  must  for  the  present 
direct  our  attention. 

In  the  front  apartment — or  at  least  in  that  apartment 
nearest  the  street,  for  neither,  strictly  speaking,  could  be 
called  front — on  the  night  our  story  opens,  there  were  two 

23 


24  THE   FORGED   WILL. 


occupants — a  mother  and  daughter — the  former  lying  upon 
a  rude  bed,  worn  down  almost  to  a  skeleton,  and  in  the 
agonies  of  a  disease  which  was  fast  bearing  her  to  a  world 
that  knows  no  sorrow ;  and  the  latter  kneeling  by  her  side 
on  the  damp  floor,  clasping  her  thin  hand,  and  weeping  the 
bitterest  tears  a  mortal  can  feel.  The  elder  was  a  woman 
slightly  turned  of  forty,  but  bearing  the  marks  of  sixty 
years — the  third  score  being  added  by  trouble  rather  than 
time.  Although,  as  previously  stated,  sadly  wasted  by 
sorrow  and  disease,  yet  the  outlines  of  her  pale,  sunken 
features,  and  a  glance  of  her  deep  blue  eye,  which  was 
scarcely  shorn  of  its  wonted  luster,  showed  she  had  once 
been  a  very  beautiful  being — beautiful  by  reason  of  intel- 
lect as  well  as  person.  In  sooth  what  is  beauty  of  person 
without  intellect,  but  the  cold  expressionless  wax  figure,  or 
the  equally  inanimate  doll? 

The  features  and  form  of  the  daughter  bore  a  strong 
resemblance  to  those  of  her  mother  in  her  palmiest 
days.  Her  skin  was  fine  and  clear,  and  her  deep  blue  eyes 
beamed  with  a  soft  and  tender  light,  showing  a  soul  full  of 
all  the  sweetest,  purest  and  holiest  feelings  of  humanity. 
Her  hair  was  a  light  brown,  and  parted  over  a  smooth, 
handsome  forehead,  which  gave  to  her  a  noble  and  benevo- 
lent appearance.  In  fine,  combine  the  whole  features — 
which  to  define  singly  would  almost  be  impossible,  as  the 
strong  points  for  which  the  painter  would  seek  were  every 
where  wanting — and  you  beheld  one  of  those  angelic  • 
creatures  that  seemed  formed  to  convey  to  us  an  accurate 
conception  of  beings  too  lovely  to  dwell  in  a  place  so  cold 
and  heartless,  unless  for  a  brief  period,  to  soften,  as  it 
were,  by  the  sunshine  of  their  presence,  the  dark  and 
cheerless  aspect  which  must  otherwise  surround  us.  Her 
form  not  above  medium,  was  airy  and  graceful  as  that  of  a 
sylph ;  while  her  tiny  feet  and  white  delicate  hands  would 


THE    HOUSE    OF    DEATH. 


have  won  favor  from  the  most  fastidious  connoissieur.  Add 
to  this,  that  her  age  was  just  eighteen,  and  with  a  little 
imagination  you  can  place  her  accurately  before  your 
mind's  eye. 

Lovely  as  she  was  in  person,  not  less  so  was  she  in  those 
virtues  which  most  adorn  her  sex.  There  was  nothing  in 
her  disposition  of  a  cold,  haughty,  repulsive  nature ;  but, 
on  the  contrary,  she  was  ardent,  mild  and  affectionate, 
forgiving  to  a  fault,  and  full  of  those  sweet  and  holy 
sympathies  which  sometimes  make  us  pause  and  wonder 
why  earth  is  permitted  to  contain  a  being  so  illy  suited  to 
its  jars  and  discords.  But  a  little  reflection  will  show  us 
that  this  is  a  wise  ordination  of  that  Great  Being  who  set 
the  wheels  of  creation  in  motion — for  what  would  our 
world  be  without  occasionally  such  spirits  to  produce  a 
harmony  with  the  rough  cords  of  life  ?  "Without  such 
gentle  spirits,  what  would  earth  be  but  pandemonium — a 
darkened  sphere  of  gloom  and  sorrow,  illumined  by  no  ray 
of  happiness? 

The  apartment  where  these  two  beings  were,  was  unfur- 
nished, or  at  least  so  scantily  as  to  be  unworthy  of  the 
name.  A  few  rough  chairs,  an  old  worm-eaten  bureau,  a 
deal  table,  on  which  stood  a  sickly  tallow  candle,  sending 
forth  a  dismal  light,  that  rather  served  to  show  than  dispel 
the  darkness,  together  with  the  bed  and  a  few  of  the  most 
common  articles  in  u^e,  completed  the  list.  In  the  fire- 
place lingered  a  few  embers,  fast  going  out  for  the  lack  of 
fuel  to  renew  the  flame. 

And  this  cold,  dismal,  dungeon-like  place,  was  the 
present  abode  of  those  whose  every  look  and  gesture,  to 
say  nothing  of  their  language,  told  that  to  them  it  was  a 
new  life,  or  rather  a  living  wretchedness  to  which  they  had 
never  been  accustomed.  Oh,  what  a  gloomy  scene  was  this ! 
what  a  terrible  trial  for  those  to  undergo  who  had  hereto- 


26  THE   FORGED   WILL. 

fore  been  used  to  wealth,  ease  and  refinement !  What  are 
the  sufferings  of  the  miserable  wretches  who  have  never 
known  aught  but  poverty,  compared  with  those  who  feel  it 
for  the  first  time?  In  any  case  such  condition  is  hard 
enough  to  bear,  Heaven  knows;  but  the  horrors  thereof 
are  increased  ten-fold,  when  it  falls  upon  such  as  have  been 
born  and  bred  in  the  halls  of  wealth.  How  the  sensitive 
soul  shudders  and  shrinks  within  itself,  and  even  longs  to 
escape  its  frail  tenement  of  clay,  and  soar  to  that  world  of 
bliss  where  sorrow  never  enters,  and  all  is  bright  and 
glorious  sunshine  forever ! 

And  here  were  these  unfortunate  beings,  alone  by  them- 
selves, on  a  dismal  night,  when  the  storm  without  was 
howling  in  fury,  shaking  their  frail  abode  even  to  its 
foundation,  as  it  whistled  and  moaned  through  the  crevices 
with  a  wail  like  the  voices  of  imprisoned  spirits  seeking  to 
escape  their  hell  of  torture.  And  why  were  they  here  on 
such  a  night  as.  this  ?  Let  the  wrongs  of  humanity  answer. 
Let  the  crimes  of  those  who  sit  in  high  places  answer. 
Let  him,  no  matter  who  nor  where,  who  hasjf  obbed  the 
widow  and  the  orphan  of  their  last  mite,  answer — ay, 
answer  before  that  Great  Tribunal  where  Justice  alone  sits 
Judge,  and  Power  and  Wealth  and  Position  stand  but  as 
chaff  before  the  gale.  As  this  poor  widow  and  her  daughter 
were  on  the  night  we  introduce  them,  so  have  thousands 
been  both  before  and  since ;  and  from  the  same  cause,  the 
wrongs  of  those  who  have  occupied,  and  do  occupy,  a  high 
place  in  the  eyes  of  the  worldly  wise.  But  look  to  it,  ye 
Wrongers,  and  tremble!  for  as  surely  as  that  the  sun 
shines  at  noon-day,  that  the  stars  are  above  us  in  the  night, 
or  that  death  will  overtake  you,  so  surely  will  there  come 
a  day  of  retribution — of  fearful  reckoning — when  your 
canting  hypocrisy  will  avail  you  not — when  the  "  silver 
vail"  will  be  stripped  from  your  vile  features,  and  you  will 


THE   HOUSE   OF   DEATH. 


stand  forth  before  the  eye  of  Almighty  God  in  your  own 
natural,  hideous  deformity !  Look  to  it,  we  repeat,  and 
tremble  !  for  it  will  be  a  fearful,  a  terribly  fearful  moment 
to  you. 

For  a  few  moments  mother  and  daughter  remained  as 
introduced,  with  hands  clasped  in  each  others,  while  the 
quick  breathings  of  the  invalid,  the  sobbings  of  the  younger, 
and  the  raging  of  the  storm,  were  the  only  sounds  audible. 
It  was  a  damp,  cold  night,  and  yet  they  were  almost  with- 
out fire,  and  both  so  thinly  covered  that  they  shivered  in 
spite  of  their  efforts  to  the  contrary. 

"  Do  not  weep,  my  child  !"  said  the  invalid  at  length  ; 
"  do  not  weep,  Virginia  !  for  your  tears  make  my  sufferings 
intense." 

"  Oh  !  how  can  I  help  it,  mother  ?"  returned  the  other, 
lifting  her  soft,  wet  eyes  to  her  parent,  with  a  fresh  burst 
of  grief.  "  How  can  I  help  it,  mother,  when  I  behold  you 
thus,  on  a  bed  of  sickness  and  pain :  and — and — perhaps 
death/  (she  shuddered  at  the  last  dreadful  word,)  without 
even 'the  ordinary  comforts  of  life  to  relieve  in  part  your 
sufferings?  Oh!  it  is  too  much — too  much!"  and  she 
again  sobbed  aloud  with  grief. 

"It  is  hard,  my  daughter,  I  know,"  rejoined  the  other; 
"  very,  very  hard ;  but  then,  my  sweet  Virginia,  we  should 
remember  it  is  the  will  of  God,  who  does  all  things  for  the 
best." 

"  So  I  try  to  think,  dear  mother ;  and  so  I  do  think,  and 
know  ;  and  I  have  struggled  long  and  hard  to  be  composed, 
and  not  excite  you  with  my  grief — but  in  vain.  My  cup  of 
bitterness  seems  over  full,  and  these  tears  will  come  in 
spite  of  all  my  efforts  to  the  contrary.  When  I  think  of 
what  we  were  once,  and  what  we  now  are,  and  to  what  wo 
owe  our  misfortunes,  it  is  impossible  for  me  to  restrain 


28  THE   FORGED   WILL. 

myself,  and  it  seems  as  if  my  brain  were  on  fire  and  I 
must  go  mad." 

"But,"  pursued  the  other,  "  you  must  not  give  way,  my 
child  !  I  feel  certain  our  afflictions  are  all  for  the  best,  even 
though  we,  poor,  weak,  short-sighted  mortals  cannot  see 
into  the  great  futurity.  We  are  chastened,  and  most 
severely,  but  it  is  by  the  hand  of  our  Maker,  and  for  some 
good  end — perhaps  that  we  may  wean  our  thoughts  and 
affections  from  the  world,  and  place  them  on  more  holy 
things." 

"  Ah !  dear  mother,"  returned  the  daughter,  affection- 
ately, "  it  is  gratifying  to  hear  you  talk  thus — you  who 
have  suffered  so  much — to  see  you  so  resigned  to  the  will 
of  Hhn  who  holds  our  destinies  in  his  hand ;  for  did  you 
indeed  repine,  I  am  sure  my  reason  would  desert  me.  But 
still,  for  all,  dear  mother,  I  cannot  restrain  these  tears — 
tears  that  come  to  relieve  the  overcharged  soul — and  I 
thank  my  God  I  can  weep.  You  are  sick,  dear  mother — 
you  are  suffering,  perhaps  with  the  pangs  of  death — and 
yet  without  aught  to  relieve  you — with  no  kind  friends  but 
your  own  unfortunate  children  to  shed  a  tear  or  feel  an 
emotion  for  your  fate  ! — And  we,  alas  !  cannot  assist  you. 
Look  around  this  desolate  apartment,  and  say,  can  I  help 
but  weep  ?  It  is  cold,  and  dismal,  and  our  scanty  fire  is 
going  out.  Oh !  mother,"  she  cried,  with  a  new  burst  of 
grief,  "  you  are  dying  for  want  of  the  ordinary  comforts 
of  life!" 

"  But  I  trust  all  will  be  better  soon,  my  sweet  Virginia  ! 
Edgar,  you  know,  has  gone  to  see  his  uncle,  who,  however 
unmindful  of  our  necessities  he  may  have  been,  will  surely 
not  reject  his  petition,  when  he  learns  our  present  condi- 
tion." 

"Hope  for  nothing  there,  mother — hope  for  nothing 
from  him  !"  rejoined  the  other ;  "  for  he  who  was  so  base 


THE   HOUSE  OF   DEATH.  29 

as  to  rob  us  of  all  we  had,  and  then  so  shamefully  deceive 
us,  is  devoid  of  all  pity." 

"  Well,  well,  my  child,  do  not  despond,  for  God  is  good, 
though  man  be  base.  Is  it  not  most  time  for  Edgar  to 
return  ?  I  wish  he  would  come — for — I — I — feel — very — 
weak  ;"  and  her  voice  died  away  to  a  whisper. 

Virginia  sprang  to  her  feet  with  a  look  of  alarm. 

"  Oh,  mother !"  she  cried,  wildly,  observing  a  marked 
change  in  the  features  of  the  invalid — a  kind  of  deathly 
sinking  about  the  eyes,  and  a  lividness  around  the  lips ; 
"  Oh,  mother !  dear  mother !  you  surely  are  not  dying  ?" 

For  a  few  moments  Mrs.  Courtly  vainly  struggled  to 
speak.  At  last  she  gasped,  rather  than  said  : 

"  I — I — trust  not,  Vir-gin-ia ;  but — I — am  very — we — 
weak — and — and — feel  strangely." 

"  Oh  God !"  burst  from  the  terrified  Virginia.  "  Dying, 
and  no  one  by !  Heaven  help  me !  Oh,  merciful  Father, 
help  me  !  Oh,  you  must  not  die,  mother!"  she  continued, 
wildly.  "Pray  take  something  to  revive  you!  Here," 
she  cried,  seizing  a  small  tin  cup  that  rested  on  the  table, 
and  hurriedly  applying  it  to  the  lips  of  the  other,  "  take 
a  draught  of  water!" 

Poor  creature  !  God  help  her !  it  was  all  she  had  to  give. 

With  a  slight  motion  of  the  hand,  the  invalid  waved  it 
away,  saying  in  a  feeble  tone  : 

"  I  wish  Edgar  would  come.  Ah !  how  dark  it  grows  ! 
Has  the  candle  gone  out,  Virginia?" 

"No,  mother,  it  is  still  burning,  but  feebly." 

"  Then  my  sight  must  be  failing,  for  I  can  hardly  see." 

"  Oh,  this  is  terrible  !"  shrieked  Virginia,  sinking  upon 
her  knees,  and  burying  her  face  in'  the  miserable  covering 
of  the  bed.  A  groan  from  the  sufferer  made  her  again 
spring  to  her  feet.  "  Are  you  dying,  mother,"  she  asked, 
wildly  ;  "  really  dying,  think  you?" 
3 


30  THE  FORGED  WILL. 

"Alas!"  sighed  the  other;  "that  is  more  than  I  can 
say.  I  feel  strangely — perhaps  the  hand  of  death  is  OD 
me." 

Virginia  instantly  caught  hold  of  her  hands.  They  felt 
cold.  She  then  tried  her  temples  and  feet.  They  were 
cold  also.  Then  she  began  chafing  different  parts  of  her 
body,  while  her  own  bosom  heaved  with  emotions  too  deep 
for  language  to  express.  While  thus  occupied,  there  came 
a  rap  upon  the  door. 

"Ha!"  exclaimed  Mrs.  Courtly,  with  something  like 
returning  animation,  "  God  grant  it  be  Edgar  !"  and  as 
Virginia  sprang  forward  to  give  him  admittance,  she  added, 
in  an  under  tone,  "  for  I  would  see  him  again  ere  I  depart 
to  return  no  more." 

"  And  how  is  mother  now  ?"  were  the  first  words  Edgar 
spoke,  as  he  crossed  the  threshold. 

"  Alas!  I  fear  she  is  dying,"  whispered  his  sister. 

"  Dying !"  cried  Edgar,  and  with  one  bound  he  stood 
beside  the  bed  of  his  mother,  and  would  have  embraced 
her,  only  that  he  remembered  in  time  that  his  garments 
were  dripping  wet. 

"  I  am  glad  you  have  come,  Edgar,"  spoke  Mrs.  Courtly, 
in  a  very  weak,  husky  tone,  "for  I  was  afraid  I  should 
never  behold  you  again." 

"Are  you  then  so  much  worse,  dear  mother?"  inquired 
Edgar,  in  a  tremulous  voice,  striving  to  master  his  feelings 
so  as  not  to  appear  agitated. 

"Yes,  Edgar,"  was  the  reply ;  " mortal  aid,  I  fear,  can 
avail  me  nothing  now.  I  feel  the  hand  of  death  upon  me. 
My  sight  has  already  failed  me.  I  cannot  see  you.  Give 
me  your  hand.  And  now  yours,  Virginia ;"  and  as  they 
both  silently  complied,  she  continued ; 

"My  dear  children,  you  must  not  weep  and  mourn  for 
me,  for  you  know  I  shall  be  better  off  in  the  land  to  which 


THE   HOUSE  OP  DEATH.  31 

I  am  hastening.  True,  I  could  have  desired  to  live  longer, 
to  comfort  you  with  my  counsel  in  these  your  darkest 
hours  of  adversity — but  it  is  not  permitted,  and  I  will  not 
murmur.  You  know  what  is  right  and  proper;  and  I 
trust,  when  I  am  gone,  you  will  not  swerve  from  the  path 
of  duty  and  rectitude.  However  sorely  you  may  be  tried, 
and  God  alone  knows  to  what  extent  that  will  be,  I  beseech 
you,  with  a  dying  prayer,  never  to  do  wrong !  never  to  be 
led  from  the  path  of  virtue  into-  that  of  vice  !  I  knbw 
you  will  have  many  temptations  before  you — will  have 
examples  of  how  the  wicked  prosper — but  still  be  firm  to 
your  dying  mother's  injunctions,  and  all  will  in  the  end  be 
well.  My  children,  I  charge  you,  with  my  last  breath,  to 
value  honor  and  virtue  more  than  life  !  I  would  say  more, 
but  my  strength  is  failing  me  so  fast  I  cannot." 

While  speaking,  both  Edgar  and  Virginia  stood  gazing 
upon  the  countenance  of  their  dying  parent  in  silence,  but 
with  breasts  heaving  with  feelings  too  deep  and  potent  for 
the  pen  to  record.  As  she  ceased,  Edgar  exclaimed : 

"  Oh !  mother !  do  not  say  you  are  dying  !  Perhaps  it 
is  only  a'  faintness — a  want  of  food — or  of  some  reviving 
cordial.  Cheer  up,  dear  mother!  you  shall  have  every 
thing.  I  am  rich  now,  dearest  mother.  I  succeeded  in 
my  errand.  See  here !  I  have  my.  uncle's  check  for  a 
thousand  dollars ;"  and  he  held  the  paper  up  before  her. 

"Then  you  will  not  starve,  my  children,  God  be 
thanked!"  cried  Mrs.  Courtly,  fervently,  with  energy. 
"  I  can  die  happier  now  for  the  thought.  But  it  comes 
too  late  for  me — for  already  I  stand  on  the  brink  of 
death." 

"  Nay,  mother,  perhaps  not.  Stay !  something  must  be 
done  !  I  will  run  for  a  physician.  I  know  I  shall  not  be 
refused  when  I  show  this." 

As  he  spoke,  he  turned  hurriedly  away,  and  darted  to 


THE   FORGED   WILL. 

the  door  to  execute  his  purpose,  but  the  feeble  voice  of  hia 
mother  arrested  his  progress. 

"  Stay,  Edgar,"  she  said ;  "  stay,  I  implore  you !  for 
if  you  leave  me  now,  you  will  never  behold  me  again  on 
earth.  I  am  more  and  more  convinced  every  moment  that 
I  am  dying — that  I  shall  speedily  pass  away." 

Edgar  slowly  returned,  and  again  taking  her  hand,  the 
manly  tears  he  could  no  longer  restrain,  followed  each 
other  mournfully  down  his  anguished  features ;  while  his 
sister,  placing  her  head  on  her  mother's  pillow,  sobbed 
aloud.  It  was  a  heart-rending  and  dismal  scene. 

Without  the  winds  did  fiercely  blow- 
Within  were  desolation — wo. 

For  a  few  moments  no  voice  broke  the  cheerless  mono- 
tony of  the  driving  storm.  Then  the  invalid  feebly  said : 

"Kneel,  my  children,  and  pray?" 

Both  silently  obeyed;  and  as  they  arose  from  their 
knees  and  bent  over  their  mother,  each  drew  back  with  a 
start.  The  next  moment  a  wild  shriek  from  Virginia  told 
the  fearful  tale. 

Their  mother  was  dead.  During  that  prayer  her  spirit 
had  passed  away — gone  from  earth — returned  to  God  who 
gave  it. 


CHAPTER  III. 

THE   LIVING   MOURNERS. 

IT  is  a  terrible  thing  to  be  alone  in  spirit.  To  fe&l, 
while  surrounded  by  a  multitude,  there  is  not  a  single 
heart  vibrating  in  sympathy  with  your  own.  To  feel  you 
are  encompassed  by  cold,  heartless  strangers ;  that  there 
is  no  tie  to  bind  you  to  earth;  no  inducement  for  you  to 
cling  to  a  life  already  burdensome,  unless  it  be  the  solemn 
dread  of  the  uncertain  change  in  throwing  off  thjs 
"mortal  coil."  How  many  have  felt  thus!  How  many 
still  feel !  How  many  have  stood  beside  the  bed  of  death 
and  seen  the  eyes  that  ever  looked  bright  on  them,  close ; 
the  lips  which  murmured  in  their  last  action  naught  but 
words  of  hope  and  comfort  to  them,  sealed  forever ;  the 
breath  which  seemed  the  Promethean  spark  of  their  own 
existence,  cease ;  and  the  soul,  which  was  the  life  of  their 
life,  wing  its  flight  for  aye  beyond  the  shores  of  time  ;  and 
felt  that  their  last  and  only  friend  was  eternally  gone  to 
that  realm  whence  no  mortal  power  can  summon  back.  How 
many  have  felt  thus,  and  in  their  anguish  and  despondency 
have  sunk  down  and  prayed  that  God  would  soon  let  them 
follow.  Millions  have  felt  thus ;  millions  still  feel ;  and 
millions  unborn  shall  suffer  yet  the  same.  The  world  is 
full  of  misery.  There  is  no  such  thing  as  unalloyed  hap- 
piness here.  Our  very  joys  derive  their  chiefest  pleasure 
from  the  strong  contrast  they  present  to  our  sorrows — the 
while  our  heaviest  sorrows  are  lightened  by  the  joys  built 
on  the  hopes  of  the  future.  Perhaps  it  is  this  variety — 
3*  (33) 


34  THE  FORGED  WILL. 


- 


his  sunshine  and  storm — that  gives  to  life  its  greatest  zest 

its  fairest  attractions  ;  for  it  is  a  well  established  fact, 
we  can  only  know  pleasure  from  having  experienced  pain. 

It  was  thus,  but  not  wholly  thus,  with  Edgar  and  Vir- 
ginia. They  were  alone  in  the  wide  world,  yet  not  wholly 
alone.  They  had  each  other  to  live  for,  each  other  to 
weep  for,  each  other  to  pray  for,  each  other  to  console. 
But  still  they  were  as  lopped  branches  from  the  withered 
trunk.  Their  mother,  their  only  parent,  in  whom  the 
deepest  affections  of  both  centered,  was  dead ;  and  their 
young  hearts  felt  anguish-stricken  and  desolate.  They  felt 
and  knew  she  at  least  was  better  for  the  change  ;  and  yet, 
though  they  prized  her  happiness  above  their  own,  they 
wept  passionately,  bitterly,  their  irreparable  loss ;  for  such 
is  the  selfishness  of  even  the  most  unselfish  of  mankind. 

It  was  a  sight  to  wring  the  heart  of  a  stoic,  to  behold 
them  stand,  on  that  ill-fated,  gloomy  night,  by  the  corpse 
of  her  whose  whole  soul  in  life  had  breathed  naught  but 
love  and  tenderness,  and  vainly  implore  her  in  touching 
accents  to  look  upon  them  once  more — to  let  them  again 
hear  the  sound  of  her  sweet,  beloved  voice — while  the  only 
answer  Yeturned  was  the  seemingly  fiercer  howl  of  the 
Storm  Spirit.  Oh!  who  shall  tell  the  anguish  of  that 
youth  and  maiden,  as  they  grasped  the  hands  of  her  they 
best  loved  in  life,  and  passionately  pressed  them  to  their 
hearts — but  found  them  cold  and  inactive — found  them 
give  no  pressure  in  return  ! 

For  a  few  minutes  after  the  sufferer  had  breathed  her 
last,  both  Edgar  and  Virginia  occupied  themselves  as  just 
described ;  and  then,  finding  too  truly  she  was  dead,  the 
latter  threw  herself  upon  the  corpse,  and  again  and  again 
kissed  her  cold  livid  lips,  and  wept,  and  groaned,  and 
sobbed  alternately ;  while  the  former,  sinking  upon  a  seat, 
buried  his  face  in  his  hands,  and  rocked  to  and  fro  like  a 


THE   LIVING   MOURNERS.  35 

strong  oak  shaken  by  the  tempest.     For  a  time  he  wa,sf 
unable  to  shed  a  tear,  and  his  heart  crept  to  his  throat  andl^ 
almost  strangled  him,  and  his  brain  seemed  parched  and 
withered.     In  this  state  he  arose  and  paced  the  floor  for 
some  minutes,  during  which  the  working   of  his  features 
showed  that  his  soul  was  on  the  rack  of  agony  the  most 
intense.      At   last,  greatly  to   his   relief,   he-  burst  into 
tears,  and  again  seating  himself,  for  a  long  time  he  wept 
freely. 

An  hour  passed,  and  both  Edgar  and  Virginia  had 
become  more  calm.  In  sooth,  the  latter  had  lain  herself 
down  by  the  corpse,  and  with  one  arm  thrown  over  its 
breast,  and  her  face  partly  buried  in  the  clothes,  and  cried 
herself  into  a  kind  of  dreamy  stupor,  from  which  she  only 
aroused  occasionally  to  draw  a  long,  sobbing  breath. 
Edgar,  on  regaining  somewhat  his  former  composure, 
approached  the  bed,  and  bending  over  his  much  loved 
sister,  gently  whispered  her  name  ;  but  finding  she  took  no 
heed  of  him,  he  resolved  not  to  disturb  her ;  and  reseat- 
ing himself  near  her,  he  took  a  hand  of  the  corpse  in  his 
own,  and  was  soon  lost  in  a  painful  revery. 

An  hour  and  then  another  went  by,  and  still  Edgar  sat 
as  before,  motionless  and  silent,  with  features  so  rigid,  that, 
but  for  his  breathing,  he  might  naturally  enough  have  been 
mistaken  for  one  of  the  dead  himself.  Meanwhile  the  sob- 
bing of  Virginia  had  become  less  and  less  frequent,  until 
at  last  her  breathing  announced  that,  for  a  short  time,  she 
had  forgot  her  trouble  in  a  quiet  sleep.  Again  arousing 
himself,  Edgar  now  arose,  and  collecting  all  the  loose 
clothes  he  could  find,  gently  spread  them  over  his  sister; 
and  then  bending  down,  and  pressing  his  lips  to  her  fore- 
head, softly  murmured : 

"  God  bless  thee,  thou  sweet  but  fragile  flower,  and  let 
•  thy  sleep  be  long,  that  some  misery  may  be  spared  thee!" 


86  THE  FORGED  WILL. 

1*and  then  taking  his  position  as  before,  he  remained  the  sad 
^  and  lonely  watcher  of  the  night. 

Towards  morning  the  storm  abated  ;  and  though  shiver- 
ing with  the  cold,  for  his  garments  had  not  been  changed 
and  the  fire  had  long  since  gone  out,  Edgar,  overcome  by 
fatigue  and  excitement,  at  last  dropped  off  into  a  feverish 
slumber,  constantly  broken  by  sudden  starts,  and  as 
constantly  renewed  by  exhausted  nature.  And  thus 
passed  that  eventful  night. 

The  gray  of  morning  was  just  streaming  through  the 
dingy  window  and  crevices  of  the  old  hovel,  as  Edgar, 
arousing  himself  with  a  start  and  shaking  off  his  drow- 
siness, turned  to  his  sister.  Much  to  his  gratification  he 
found  her  still  asleep ;  and  again  stealing  a  kiss  and  press- 
ing his  lips  to  the  cold  cheek  of  his  mother,  he  sallied 
forth  to  procure  fuel  and  food,  and  make  arrangements  for 
the  last  sad  rite  he  would  ever  be  called"  upon  to  perform 
for  her  who  had  given  him  existence.  By  this  time  the 
storm  had  ceased  entirely ;  but  still  it  was  cold  and  damp, 
and  the  pavements  slippery  with  ice.  Only  a  few  persons 
were  abroad  in  the  street,  and  most  of  the  houses  were 
closed,  and  looked  as  cold  and  cheerless  as  he  felt  at 
heart. 

Moving  on  for  a  square  and  a  half,  Edgar  came  to  a 
small,  miserable  looking  grocery,  (numbers  of  which  can 
be  seen  at  all  times  in  all  parts  of  New  York,  where  a  lit- 
tle of  every  thing  is  kept  and  doled  out  to  the  poor  in  any 
quantity,  from  the  value  of  a  cent  upwards,)  the  owner  of 
which  was  just  taking  down  his  shutters,  preparatory  to 
his  morning's  sale.  Here  Edgar  knew  he  could  procure 
every  thing  he  desired  at  the  present,  even  to  a  few  sticks 
of  wood,  or  a  small  measure  of  coal ;  and  approaching  the 
grocer,  a  rough,  coarse  looking  Dutchman,  he  said, 
blandly ; 


THE   LIVING   MOURNERS.  37 

"  I  wish  to  purchase  a  few  necessary  articles,  and  in  the 
.course  of  the  day  will  call  and  settle  for  them." 

The  Dutchman  shrugged  his  shoulders  and  gave  him  a 
contemptuous  look,  as  he  replied : 

"  I  never  trusts  nopodys,  and  den  nopodys  don't  never 
sheats  me." 

"  But,  my  good  sir,"  pursued  Edgar,  reddening,  "  I  do 
not  intend  to  cheat  you.  I  will  call,  I  pledge  you  my 
honor,  and  pay  you  every  cent  between  this  and  night.  J! 
have  a  check  about  me  for  a  large  amount,  which,  as 
soon  as  business  opens  in  Wall  street,  I  will  have  cashed, 
and  then  I  can  settle  for  a  thousand  times  the  value  of  all 
I  now  require." 

"Vare  you  lives?"  queried  the  Dutchman;  and  as 
Edgar  informed  him,  he  continued:  "  Vy  you  has  der 
sheck  and  not  der  moneys  ?" 

"  I  only  procured  it  last  night,  and  have  not  since  had 
an  opportunity  of  disposing  of  it." 

"  What  for  den  you  wants  der  trusts  now  ?"  asked  the 
still  unsatisfied  grocer.  "  Vy  you  don't  vaits  till  you  sells 
him,  and  comes  mit  der  cash  ?" 

"Because,"  answered  Edgar,  humoring  him,  in  the  hope 
he  would  grant  his  request,  "it  is  necessary  I  should  have 
a  few  articles  now.  My  home  is  entirely  devoid  of  every 
thing  one  needs.  My  poor  mother  (and  here  in  spite  of 
himself  his  eyes  became  filled  with  tears,  and  his  voice 
faltered  and  grew  husky,)  last  night  breathed  her  last  in  this 
abode  of  wretchedness,  without  fire,  food,  or  medicine — for 
our  last  cent  had  been  expended  and  its  purchase  exhausted 
— and  now  my  poor  sister,  whom  I  have  left  alone  with  her, 
will  sorely  suffer,  unless  I  procure  something  immediately." 

The   Dutchman   shook  his  head  with   a  frown,  as  he 
rejoined : 
.     "  It  won't  do.     You  tells  a  goot  story — quite  petter  ash 


THE   FORGED   WILL. 

nopody  else ;  but  it  ish  all  a  tarn  lie,  mit  der  sheck  and  all 
You  tries  again,  and  somepody  ash  don't  know  much,  yop 
makes  believe  him.  You  shust  go,  mit  your  dead  motter 
and  shister,  and  your  great  sheck,  vich  you  haint  got  more 
nor  as  I,  mitout  you  stole  him ;"  and  saying  this,  the  hard- 
hearted grocer  turned  his  back  on  Edgar,  and  coolly  pro 
ceded  to  finish  taking  down  his  shutters. 

For  a  few  moments,  Edgar  stood  as  one  stupified  with 
amazement,  at  the  gross  insult  to  himself,  coupled  as  it  was 
with  such  cool  indifference.  Then  his  hand  clenched,  his 
teeth  closed  tightly,  his  lips  quivered,  his  eyes  flashed  fierce 
indignation,  and  he  took  a  step  forward,  with  the  full 
determination  of  punishing  the  other  for  his  insolence  ;  but 
then,  bethinking  himself  he  would  only  become  involved  in 
a  quarrel — which,  to  say  the  least,  would  now  be  most 
imprudent — he  turned  away,  muttering : 

"  Such  is  the  selfish,  uncharitable  world — and  why  should 
I  quarrel  with  what  I  cannot  alter  !  Oh,  why  was  I  born 
to  come  in  contact  with  such  base  spirits !  God  of  the 
orphan  and  friendless,  protect  and  direct  me!  for  wild 
thoughts  are  busy  in  my  brain,  and  my  heart  seems  turning 
to  stone,  like  those  of  the  wretches  around  me." 

In  a  few  minutes  Edgar  had  entered  another  of  these 
miserable  groceries,  where  he  met  with  the  same  success  as 
before,  with  the  exception  that  the  owner  simply  refused  to 
trust,  without  further  insulting  him.  Sadly  dispirited  and 
chagrined,  he  tried  another,  and  still  another,  but  in  each 
met  the  same  cold  reply — all  refused  to  credit  his  tale — 
and  he  slowly  retraced  his  steps  to  his  desolate  abode, 
overwhelmed  with  grief,  crushed  in  spirit,  and  nearly  heart- 
broken. 

"I  must  perforce  wait,"  he  said,  bitterly,  "till  I  can 
procure  the  means  to  satisfy  their  uncharitable,  avaricious 


THE  LIVING  MOURNERS.  39 

natures.  But  poor,  poor  Virginia!  how  she  will  suffer;" 
and  he  groaned  at  the  thought. 

As  he  said  this,  he  felt  for  his  check,  to  be  certain  he 
still  had  resources  to  depend  upon.  To  his  surprise  it  was 
not  where  he  expected  to  find  it.  Alarmed  at  this,  he  made 
an  eager  search  of  his  garments ;  and  then,  who  shall  judge 
of  his  dismay  and  horror,  when  he  discovered  it  was  missing 
— that  his  last  and  only  stay  of  support,  in  this  his  most 
trying  hour,  was  gone.  - 

"Oh,  God!"  he  groaned,  "if  that  be  lost,  what  will 
become  of  us  ?"  and  almost  maddened  with  excitement,  he 
hurried  back  to  his  wretched  abode,  in  the  hope  he  might 
there  find  it. 

The  door  was  slightly  ajar ;  and  as  he  rushed  into  the 
chamber  of  death,  he  found  Virginia  bending  over  the 
corpse  of  her  mother,  wringing  her  delicate  hands  and 
weeping  bitterly,  while  beside  her  stood  a  female,  but  a  few 
years  her  senior,  striving  by  gentle  words  to  console  her. 

"  Do  not  weep  and  take  on  so,  fair  girl  1"  he  heard 
uttered  as  he  crossed  the  threshold. 

"  Oh,  Edgar,  my  dear  brother !"  cried  Virginia,  as  she 
heard  his  step ;  and  springing  forward,  she  threw  her  arms 
around  his  neck,  buried  her  face  upon  his  bosom,  and 
sobbed  grievously. 

"  My  poor,  sweet  Virginia !"  murmured  Edgar  tenderly, 
straining  her  to  his  heart,  while  his  eyes  grew  dim  with 
scalding  tears. 

"  I  heard  her  cry  of  agony,  sir,"  said  the  strange  female, 
apologetically,  "  and  thinking  it  some  person  in  sore  dis- 
tress, I  hurried  to  her  relief,  which  accounts  for  my  presence 
here." 

"For  which  God  bless  you!"  returned  Edgar,  in  that 
deep,  earnest,  passionate  tone  which  carries  with  it  the 
unmistakable  evidence  of  sincerity. 


40  THE  FORGED   WILL. 

The  visiter  gave  him  one  heartfelt  look  of  gratitude,  and 
then,  much  to  his  surprise,  covered  her  eyes  with  her  hands, 
sunk  into  a  seat  and  burst  into  tears.  Before  Edgar  could 
ask  for  an  explanation  of  this  singular  conduct,  she  rose, 
and  hastily  wiping  her  eyes,  as  if  ashamed  of  her  emotion, 
Said,  in  a  sad,  earnest,  tremulous  voice : 

"  You  are  surprised  to  witness  this  strange  ebullition  of 
feeling;  but,  air,  it  is  a  long  time  since  I  have  heard  God's 
blessing  invoked  upon  my  guilty  head ;"  and  again  in  spite 
of  herself,  the  tears  pressed  through  her  eyelids. 

Edgar  looked  kindly  but  sadly  upon  her  ere  he  made  a 
reply ;  and  even  Virginia  for  the  moment  forgot  her  own 
grief,  and,  turning  her  head,  beamed  upon  her  guest  a 
curious  but  tender  expression  from  her  soft  blue  eyes,  which 
touched  the  other  to  the  very  soul.  Both  she  and  her 
brother  now  instantly  became  aware  that  their  guest 
belonged  to  that  class  of  poor  unfortunates  whom  the  world 
takes  pride  in  despising,  rather  than  reclaiming,  the  while 
it  harbors  and  pampers  the  damnable  villains  that  make 
them  what  they  are. 

She  had  once  been  a  lovely  creature ;  but  though  scarcely 
turned  of  twenty  years,  there  was  a  sad  look  of  grief,  and 
care,  and  heart  desolation  in  her  appearance.  Her  once  fine, 
noble  looking  features  were  pale  and  almost  haggard,  and 
her  bright  dark  eye  had  lost  some  of  its  wonted  brilliant 
lustre.  Still  she  was  handsome,  though  in  a  measure  the 
wreck  of  what  she  had  been.  Her  features  were  fine  and 
regular,  and  there  predominated  over  all  an  expression  of 
feeling, — of  sympathy  with  the  sorrows  of  others,  and  a 
kind  benevolence — which  rendered  her  an  object  of  interest 
and  pity  to  such  as  could  properly  appreciate  these  high- 
born qualities.  Her  complexion  was  an  olive ;  and  her  hair, 
Dlack  and  shiny  as  the  raven's  plume,  was  neatly  parted 
and  arranged  with  care,  though  the  loose  wrapper  she  wore, 


THE   LIVING   MOURNERS.  41 

told  she  had  just  risen  and  had  not  yet  completed  her  morn- 
ing toilet. 

"  And  you,  too,  fair  lady,  have  felt  the  wrongs  of  man- 
kind most  bitterly  !"  said  Edgar,  in  a  soothing,  sympathetic 
tone,  accompanied  with  an  expression  in  keeping  with  the 
words  he  uttered. 

"Suffered!"  returned  the  other,  shuddering  at  the 
thought;  "yes,  I  have  indeed  suffered,  and  God  only 
knows  how  much." 

"  Then,"  rejoined  Virginia,  tenderly,  "  we  can  the  better 
sympathise  with  one  another,  for  we  have  felt  the  bitterest 
pangs  of  wo." 

"  Oh,  no,  not  the  bitterest,  I  trust !"  returned  the  other, 
with  energy ;  "  not  the  bitterest.  You  have  felt  not  the 
excruciating  pangs  of  a  guilty  conscience ;  for  I  can  see, 
by  your  open,  generous  countenance,  you  have  suffered 
innocently — that  the  oppressive  weight  of  guilt  is  not  on 
your  stainless  soul,  weighing  you  down  to  the  lowest  depths 
of  degradation."  « 

"  No,  thank  God !"  returned  Virginia,  "  I  have  as  yet 
been  spared  that." 

"And  well  may  you  thank  God,"  rejoined  the  other, 
with  spirit ;  "  for  all  the  other  ills  of  this  life  are  nothing 
to  compare  with  it.  Once,  sweet  lady,  I  was  as  good  and 
pure,  perhaps,, as  yourself;  but  the  tempter  came,  and — 
(here  her  voice  grew  tremulous,  and  she  turned  away  her 
head  to  conceal  her  emotion — )  and  in  an  unguarded 
moment  I  fell;  and  now — "  She  paused,  and  then  sud- 
denly added :  "  But  of  what  am  I  thinking,  to  trouble  you 
with  my  sorrows,  when  you  have  such  weighty  griefs  of 
your  own  to  contend  with ;"  and  she  glanced  mournfully 
toward  the  bed,  where  still  lay  the  corpse  of  Mrs.  Courtly, 
as  she  had  breathed  her  last  the  night  before. 

"  My  mothef!"  burst  frqm  Virginia,  while  the  tears  gushed 
4 


42  THE   FORGED  WILL. 

forth  afresh ;  and  approaching  the  bed  she  knelt  on  the 
floor,  took  one  of  the  cold  hands  of  the  corpse  in  her  own, 
pressed  it  to  her  lips,  and  then  seemed  lost  in  prayer. 

Both  Edgar  and  the  stranger  gazed  upon  her  in  solemn 
silence,  each  busy  with  painful  thoughts  ;  till  at  length  she 
arose,  and  turning  to  her  brother,  in  a  calmer  mood  than 
she  had  hitherto  exhibited,  said : 

"And  why  did  you  leave  me,  Edgar,  without  telling 
me  you  were  going  ?  and  where  have  you  been  ?  I  awoke, 
and  not  finding  you  here,  and  seeing  my  dead  mother  by 
my  side,  I  felt  so  wretchedly  desolate,  that  in  my  anguish 
of  spirit  I  uttered  the  cry  of  agony  which  brought  this 
kind  lady  to  me." 

"  I  thought  I  should  return  ere  you  awoke,"  answered 
Edgar;  "  and  I  went  for  fuel  and  food.  But  I  failed -to 
get  either,"  he  continued,  bitterly,  "because  the  cold- 
hearted  wretches  to  whom  I  applied  would  not  sell  to  me 
without  the  money,  and  that  you  know  I  had  not.  And 
that  reminds  me,"  he  added,  with  a  start,  "that  I  have 
missed  the  check  of  my  uncle,  my  sole  dependence  now, 
without  which  we  must  starve.  Did  I  not  drop  it  here  on 
the  floor  last  night?  Have  you  not  seen  it,  Virginia?" 
and  he  began  an  eager  search  of  the  apartment,  assisted 
by  his  trembling  sister. 

"Alas  !  what  will  become  of  us  now  !"  he  groaned,  as, 
after  a  fruitless  search,  he  gave  up  in  despair,  and  sinking 
hopelessly  upon  a  seat,  covered  his  face  with  his  hands,  as 
if  to  shut  out  the  dread  contemplation. 

"If  it  be  money  you  need,"  said  his  guest,  "thank 
Heaven  !  I  can  assist  you,  and  will,  if  you  will  accept  my 
poor  offering.  Here  !  here !"  she  pursued,  with  vehemence, 
drawing  forth  her  purse ;  "  here  is  gold ;  take  it,  take  it, 
I  .beg,  I  implore  of  you !  for  it  will  be  a  relief  to  my  con- 
science to  feel  I  have  done  one  good  act." 


THE   LIVING   MOURNERS.  43 

"No  !  no  !  I  dare  not  take  it,"  returned  Edgar,  mourn 
fully,  motioning  her  back  with  his  hand;  "for  I  might 
never  be  able  to  repay  you." 

"  The  deed  will  repay  itself,"  pursued  the  other,  ener- 
getically, thrusting  it  upon  Edgar.  "  The  gold  is  valueless 
to  me ;  and  if  it  will  ease  one  sorrow  of  yours,  I  shall  feel 
myself  tenfold  rewarded." 

"  God  bless  you,  lady !"  cried  Virginia,  springing  for- 
ward and  seizing  her  hand,  which  she  bathed  with  grateful 
tears :  "  God  bless  you  !  for  whatever  your  faults  may 
have  been,  you  still  possess  some  of  the  holiest  attributes 
of  the  angels." 

"  There  !  there !"  rejoined  the  other,  affected  to  tears  ; 
"  say  no  more  ! — you  praise  me  far  beyond  my  deserts." 

"  It  may  possibly  be  in  my  power  at  some  future  time,'" 
Said  Edgar,  rising,  and  speaking  in  a  voice  made  husky  by 
deep  emotion,  "  to  repay  this  overwhelming  debt  of  kind- 
ness ;  and  if  so,  rest  assured  that  my  very  life  will  be  at 
your  command.  Your  generosity " 

"Enough!  enough!"  interrupted  the  other.  "  Say  no 
more,  I  beg  of  you  !  for  you  have  more  weighty  matters 
to  think  of  at  present,  and  I  am  fitter  for  the  scoffs  and 
jibes  of  mankind  than  such  words  as  these.  Your  mother 
must  be  laid  out  and  interred ;  and  then  you  must  leave 
this  wretched,  filthy  abode,  which  is  no  place  for  such  as 
you.  I  will  send  those  to  you  who  will  rightly  perform 
the  last  sad  ofiices  to  her  mortal  remains.  Meanwhile, 
procure  such  things  as  you  need,  and  if  you  desire  more 
money,  let  me  know.  My  residence  is  just  over  the  way, 
in  yonder  brick  building.  Adieu  for  the  present.  I  will 
soon  be  with  you  again,  and  superintend  the  laying  out  of 
the  corpse  myself.  Here  is  my  card ;"  and  placing  it  in 
the  hands  of  Virginia,  which  she  pressed  with  warmth,  she 


44  THE   FORGED   WILL. 

hurried  out  of  the  apartment,  as  if  fearful  of  being 
detained  by  further  expressions  of  gratitude. 

Both  Edgar  and  his  sister  turned  to  the  card,  and 
beheld  simply  the  name  of  Ellen  Douglas,  written  in  a 
plain,  neat  hand. 

It  is  unnecessary  for  us  to  longer  dwell  upon  this  painful 
scene.  Suffice  it,  therefore,  that  Ellen  kept  her  word  with 
regard  to  the  funeral  arrangements  of  Mrs.  Courtly ;  and 
that,  ere  the  sun  had  sunk  to  rest,  her -remains  were  fol- 
lowed to  their  last  resting  place  by  a  small  group,  composed 
principally  of  the  clergyman,  Ellen,  and  the  chief  mourn- 
ers, the  latter  of  whom  bedewed  her  humble  grave  with 
tears,  as  she  was  being  buried  forever  from  their  sight. 


CHAPTER    VI. 

THE   PAST   RECALLED. 

ERE  we  proceed  further  with  our  story,  it  is  important 
we  should  touch  somewhat  upon  the  past,  in  order  to  show 
the  train  of  circumstances  which  placed  some  of  our  cha- 
racters in  the  position  they  occupied  when  introduced  to 
the  reader.  In  doing  this  we  shall  endeavor  to  be 
as  brief  as  possible,  well  knowing  that,  to  most,  long 
details  of  such  matters  prove  excessively  tedious.  To 
begin  then  at  the  beginning,  let  us  go  back  some  twenty- 
five  years,  to  the  marriage  of  Ethan  Courtly  and  Mary 
Atherton,  the  parents  of  Edgar  and  Virginia.  From 
some  remarks  dropped  by  Edgar  to  his  uncle,  recorded  in 
the  opening  chapter,  the  reader  has  already  had  an  inkling 
of  what  is  to  come ;  but  still  there  are  many  things  not 
jet  mentioned,  which,  as  a  faithful  chronicler,  we  deem  it 
our  duty  here  to  set  forth. 

At  the  time  the  marriage  in  question  took  place,  Mary 
and  her  brother  were  orphans,  living  on  a  small  estate 
bequeathed  them  by  their  father,  who  had  died  a  year  or 
two  previous,  and  who  had  himself  been  a  widower  some 
three  or  four  years.  Their  place  of  residence  was  near  a 
small  village  in  the  state  of  Maryland,  distant  about  thirty 
miles  from  the  city  of  Baltimore.  But  notwithstanding 
they  remained  on  the  farm  or  plantation  of  their  late 
Father,  we  wofcld  not  have  the  reader  infer  they  were  want- 
ing in  the  graces  and  accomplishments  of  refined  society. 
On  the  contrary  their  doating  father  had  taken  every  pains 
4*  (45) 


46  THE   FORGED  WILL. 

to  give  them  both  an  education  and  polish  superior  to  those 
ju  by  whom  they  were  surrounded.  Oliver  had  entered  college 
very  young,  and  graduated  in  his  twentieth  year ;  and  Mary 
had  left  boarding  school  a  ripe  scholar  at  the  age  of  six- 
teen. In  fine,  so  lavish  had  been  the  expenditures  of 
their  father  on  them,  that  he  had  much  impoverished  his 
small  estate,  and  besides  encumbering  a  part  with  mort- 
gage, had  been  obliged  to  dispose  of  all  his  negroes  but 
two,  in  order  to  liquidate  the  more  pressing  debts. 

At  his  death,  Oliver  took  charge  of  the  estate,  and,  by 
close  management,  and  a  sale  of  a  few  acres  succeeded  in 
raising  the  mortgage,  and  becoming  sole  proprietor ;  for, 
though  his  sister  was  entitled  to  a  portion,  he  took  no 
other  notice  of  her  claims,  than  to  ofier  her  a  home  so  long 
as  she  might  remain  unmarried. 

Mary  was  not  well  pleased,  for  the  disposition  of  her 
brother  was  illy  suited  to  render  her  happy.  lie  was 
morose  and  haughty  to  those  he  considered  his  dependents, 
or  held  in  his  power,  though  fawning  enough  to  his  supe- 
riors, or  such  as  he  expected  by  hypocritical  manoeuvres 
to  profit  by.  He  was,  withal,  very  ambitious,  grasping, 
and  avaricious — so  that  those  who  knew  him  best,  shunned 
him  as  they  would  a  viper,  and  scandalized  him  Lnuch 
•whenever  his  name  chanced  to  be  mentioned.  But  he  had 
a  faculty  of  making  his  dupes  think  him  perfect;  and 
those  on  whom  he  had  a  design,  who  had  as  yet  only  seen 
the  bright  side,  could  not  be  brought  to  believe  that  the 
refined,  soft-spoken,  smiling,  agreeable  young  Atherton, 
could  be  the  base  hypocrite  men  reported  him.  No !  it 
was  wilful,  malignant  slander,  to  injure  a  high-minded, 
honorable  young  man;  and  their  sympathies  being  aroused 
in  consequence,  they  were  only  the  more  fully  and  blindly 
drawn  into  the  net  he  had  prepared  for  them,  and  which 
they  seldom  if  ever  discovered  until  too  late  to  escape. 


THE   PAST   RECALLED.  47 

He  was  a  man  without  principle,  who  would  stoop  to  any 
meanness  to  accomplish  his  end ;  though,  to  casually  see 
and  hear  him  converse,  one  would  suppose  him  the  very 
quintessence  of  nobleness  and  honor. 

The  first  thing  that  sorely  troubled  Mary,  and  opened 
her  eyes  to  his  real  nature — for  having  both  been  sent  to 
school  at  an  early  age,  she  had  seen  little  of  him  until  her 
return — was  his  importuning  her  to  inveigle  and  marry 
some  rich  young  man ;  and  this,  too,  ere  their  father  had 
been  six  months  in  his  grave,  and  while  she  was  deeply 
mourning  his  death. 

"Now,  do  not  have  any  false  notions,  Mary,"  he  would 
say  to  her,  "but  follow  my  instructions,  and  you  will  soon 
be  mistress  of  a  splendid  mansion.  I  have  several  acquain- 
tances who  are  rich,  and,  though  a  little  wild,  that  need 
not  matter,  for  they  will  be  the  easier  entangled,  if  the 
card  be  rightly  played,  and  be  the  less  likely  to  look  close 
into  the  affair  afterwards ;  and  so  you  get  plenty  of  money, 
and  live  in  elegant  style,  what  need  you  care  ?  Come  !  I 
will  invite  them  here,  and  trust  me,  I  will  soon  see  you 
settled  as  becomes  my  sister." 

N  At  first  -Mary  thought  him  in  jest,  and  laughed  at  his  to 
her  curious  ideas  of  what  should  make  a  proper  husband ; 
but  discovering 'soon  her  mistake,  she  mildly  reproved  him 
for  being  so  worldly,  and  firmly  declared  she  would  not  see 
his  friends  alone,  much  more  listen  to  any  proposals  of  the 
nature  he  required,  even  should  they  be  never  so  strenu- 
ous in  urging  suit.  In  vain  her  brother  sought,  by  all  the 
false  reasoning  he  could  invent,  to  turn  her  from  her 
resolve.  The  more  he  importuned,  the  firmer  she  grew; 
until  at  last,  so  repugnant  became  the  subject  to  her  feel- 
ings, and  so  andent  her  desire  to  convince  her  brother  she 
would  never  relent,  that  she  took  a  solemn  oath,  calling 
Heaven  to  witness,  she  would  never,  knowingly,  marry  a 


48  THE   FORGED   WILL. 

man  of  wealth.  Oliver,  who  had  seen  enough  of  his  sister 
to  know  she  would  keep  her  vow,  now  let  the  matter  drop, 
and  appeared  to  acquiesce  in  her  decision — though  in 
reality  he  was  secretly  laying  a  plan  to  entrap  her,  by 
introducing  to  her  a  young  man  of  wealth,  and  concealing 
from  her  the  fact.  This  plan  he  put  in  execution ;  and  the 
young  man  apparently  proving  an  agreeable  suitor,  the 
affair  seemed  likely  to  terminate  as  he  desired. 

Month  upon  month  rolled  away,  and  still  the  friend  of 
Oliver  paid  his"visits  regularly  to  Mary  ;  and,  as  is  usual 
in  such  cases,  Rumor,  with  her  thousand  tongues,  said  it 
would  be  a  match.  Oliver  was  delighted  that  his  scheme 
was  about  to  succeed ;  and  on  the  strength  of  it.  he  bor- 
rowed of  his  intended  brother-in-law  a  large  sum  of  money, 
by  which  to  prosecute  a  suit  of  his  own,  in  Baltimore,  with 
an  heiress. 

But  there  were  two  persons  who  had  no  faith  in  the 
reported  marriage  ever  taking  place.  One  of  these  was 
Mary  herself,  and  the  name  of  the  other  has  already  been 
mentioned  in  these  pages,  and  will  soon  occur  again.  With 
Mary's  ostensible  lover,  it  also .  began  to  grow  doubtful ; 
for  whenever  he  asked  the  important  question,  she  would 
always  desire  further  time  to  consider.  At  last  he  grew 
desperate,  and  said  he  vould  not  be  put  off  any  longer ; 
that  she  must  answer  Yes  or  No  at  the  end  of  a  week, 
which  he  further  granted  her  of  his  own  accord.  She 
calmly  replied,  that  if  he  would  call  a  week  from  that 
night,  he  should  have  her  positive  answer. 

At  the  time  appointed  the  young  man  came,  and  was 
handed  a  note  by  the  servant,  which  contained  a  direct, 
though  respectful,  refusal  of  his  hand.  Chagrined  at  this, 
he  sought  young  Oliver,  who  had  been  the  means  of  bring- 
ing him  there,  and  who  had  often  encouraged  his  addresses, 
by  telling  him  his  sister  was  passionately  in  love  with  him. 


THE   PAST  RECALLED.  49' 

When  Oliver  saw  the  note,  he  became  very  much  enraged, 
and  inquired  for  his  sister.  The  servant  said  she  had  that 
evening  gone  out  with  the  village  schoolmaster,  Ethan 
Courtly. 

"By !"  cried  Oliver  Atherton,  stamping  his  foot 

in  a  paroxysm  of  anger,  "  I  see  it  all.  I  thought  that 
young  scape-grace,  whom  I  have  frequently  seen  here  of 
late,  was  after  no  good.  They  have  eloped  !  My  horse  ! 
my  horse!  I  must  overtake  the  runaways." 

But  Oliver,  and  his  friend  who  accompanied  him,  proved 
too  late.  Ere  the  former  found  his  sister,  she  was  the  law- 
ful wife  of  Ethan  Courtly ;  and  cursing  her  in  the  most 
vindictive  language  he  could  invent,  and  swearing  roundly 
he  would  ever* after  disown  her,  and  sometime  be  revenged, 
he  turned  upon  his  heel,  and,  accompanied  by  his  friend, 
departed  in  haste. 

Greatly  were  the  good  people  of  Sandville — for  so  we 
will  call  the  village — astonished  at  hearing  of  the  runaway 
nuptials  of  Ethan  Courtly  and  Mary  Atherton  ;  for  so 
cautiously  had  both  managed,  and  so  blindly  had  all  given 
credenpe  to  the  report  of  her  engagement  with  another, 
that  the  news  fell  upon  them  like  a  thunder  bolt. 

About  a  year  previous  to  this  marriage,  Ethan  Courtly, 
a  young  man  of  education  and  enterprise,  had  come  to  the 
village  of  Sandville  and  opened  a  school,  which  was  soon 
crowded  with  pupils.  Born  in  the  land  of  puritans— glori- 
ous old  New  England — he  had  been  educated  with  correct 
principles,  which  he  took  care  ever  to  display,  and  by 
which  he  won  the  admiration  and  esteem  of  all  who  knew 
him,  and  consequently  soon  became  a  favorite  with  all  the 
good  citizens  of  Sandville.  To  make  a  long  story  short, 
he  met  and  was  introduced  to  Mary  Atherton  ;  and  fancy- 
ing her  more  than  any  other  he  had  ever  seen,  he  sought 
her  society,  and  soon  made  known  to  her  his  regard  for 


50  THE   FORGED   WILL. 

herself.  To  his  great  delight,  he  found  a  cordial  recip- 
rocity of  feeling;  but  was  told  that  if  he  wished  to 
succeed,  he  must  keep  the  matter  wholly  to  himself,  and 
appear  indifferent  about  her  society,  in  order  to  avoid 
arousing  the  suspicions  of  Oliver,  whom  Mary  knew  would 
oppose  any  thing  like  a  marriage,  even  by  violence  if 
necessary,  simply  because  young  Courtly  had  not  wealth 
to  recommend  him.  To  cloak  still  farther  this  novel  and 
clandestine  courtship,  Mary  permitted  the  visits  of  her 
brother's  friend,  and  even  allowed  the  report  of  her 
engagement  with  him  to  go  abroad  without  contradiction. 
1  Thus  matters  went  on  to  the  terminus,  which  has  already 
been  seen,  and  on  which  it  is  unnecessary  for  us  to  dwell.  J 

Immediately  on  his  marriage,  Courtly  gave  up  his  school 
and  removed  with  his  wife  to  Baltimore,  where,  with  the 
little  capital  he  had  prudently  saved  from  his  earnings,  he 
opened  a  small  retail  store.  Every  thing  he  undertook 
prospered  with  him,  and  in  a  few  years  he  had  greatly 
enlarged  his  business,  and  was  known  and  respected  as  a 
wealthy  merchant.  He  purchased  a  handsome  residence 
in  the  environs  of  the  city,  where,  with  his  wife  and  two 
children,  Edgar  and  Virginia,  he  lived  in  as  perfect  happi- 
ness as  it  is  possible  for  a  mortal  to  enjoy. 

Meantime,  Oliver  married  the  heiress  to  whom  allusion 
has  been  previously  made,  but  found,  soon  after,  to  his 
disappointment  and  rage,  that  she  was  literally  worth 
nothing,  and  that  to  pay  the  debts  he  had  contracted  on 
the  score  of  expectancy  he  would  now  be  obliged  to 
dispose  of  the  homestead  estate.  The  result  of  the  whole 
matter  was,  that  both  he  and  his  wife  having  married  for 
money  rather  than  love,  each  supposing  the  other  the 
fortunate  possessor  of  half  a  million,  now  became  greatly 
dissatisfied  with  each  other,  quarrelled  often,  and  finally, 
after  the  birth  of  two  children,  a  son  and  a  daughter, 


THE    PAST   RECALLED.  51 

mutually  agreed  to  separate,  the  father  taking  the  son  and 
the  wife  the  daughter.  It  was  now,  that,  impoverished 
and  generally  despised  by  all  who  knew  him,  Oliver  Ather- 
ton,  the  cunning  villain,  bethought  him  of  his  sister,  with 
envy  of  that  very  happiness  he  had  once  so  strenuously 
sought  to  prevent. 

But  why  should  he  not  reconcile  himself  with  her,  he 
mused,  and  so  peradvcnture  get  an  opportunity  to  feather  his 
own  nest  ?  His  sister  and  her  husband  were  both  persons 
of  frank,  unsuspicious  natures ;  and  a  little  duplicity,  a 
few  penitential  tears,  and  a  heart-broken  look,  would  per- 
haps accomplish  all.  It  was  at  least  worth  the  trial ;  for 
should  he  succeed,  perchance  his  fortune  would  be  made. 

Thus  reasoned  the  worldly  man ;  and,  to  be  brief,  he  did 
make  the  trial ;  and,  alas  for  his  victims !  succeeded  but 
too  well,  as  has  already  been  shown  in  the  pages  preced- 
ing. With  an  oily  tongue,  and  an  honest,  sanctified  look, 
the  mask  which  best  conceals  a  devilish  heart,  Oliver  man- 
aged to  ingratiate  himself  with  his  brother-in-law,  until 
the  latter  would  as  soon  have  thought  of  doubting  holy 
writ  as  one  word  he  might  utter. 

From  a  schoolmaster  and  a  small  retail  dealer,  Ethan 
Courtly  had  now  'become  a  wholesale  merchant,  and  owner 
of  one  or  two  vessels,  and  part  owner  of  half  a  dozen 
others,  which  sailed  from  Baltimore  and  the  different  ports 
of  the  Union ;  and,  at  the  head  of  his  affairs,  almost  sole 
manager,  he  placed  the  hypocrite  and  villain,  Oliver  Ather- 
ton. 

Time  rolled  on,  and  still  every  thing  prospered,  until 
the  period  of  which  we  are  now  about  to  speak — say  some 
five  years  previous  to  the  opening  of  our  story.  Without 
entering  into  particulars,  it  will  only  be  necessary  to  state, 
that  at  this  time  Ethan  Courtly  made  arrangements  to 
embark  on  one  of  his  own  vessels  for  a  foreign  clime,  but 


52  .     THE  FORGED   WILL. 

with  the  intention  and  expectation  of  returning  to  his 
beloved  family  -within  a  twelve-month  from  setting  sail. 
Before  he  departed  Oliver  was  very  strenuous  in  urging  him 
to  make  his  will ;  against  which  he  remonstrated,  by  saying 
he  did  not  deem  such  a  proceeding  necessary,  as  in  case 
he  died  intestate,  of  course  the  property  would  fall  to  his 
rightful  heirs,  which  was  all  he  desired.  But  the  wily 
schemer,  after  much  quiet  reasoning,  gained  his  point,  as 
in  fact  he  ever  did  with  his  single-minded  brother-in-law, 
and  was  deputed  to  employ  a  lawyer,  and  have  all  settled 
in  due  form. 

It  is  needless  to  say  more  than  that  the  will  was  drawn, 
attested,  and  placed  upon  record  the  day  previous  to  the 
departure  of  Ethan  Courtly. 

We  now  skip  a  period  of  five  months,  during  which 
Oliver  Atherton  assiduously  attended  to  the  affairs  of  his 
absent  relative  ;  when  suddenly,  with  the  shock  of  a  thun- 
derbolt falling  from  a  cloudless  sky,  there  came  the  painful 
intelligence  that  the  Mary  Helen,  on  which  Ethan  Courtly 
had  embarked,  had  been  wrecked  off  the  coast  of  France, 
and  that  every  soul  aboard  of  her  had  perished. 

We  pass  over  the  effect  of  this  news  upon  Mrs.  Courtly 
and  her  children,  both  of  whom  were  recalled  from  school 
to  bitterly  mourn  the  loss  of  a  beloved  and  indulgent 
parent. 

On  the  receipt  of  the  tidings  regarding  the  sad  fate  of 
his  brother-in-law,  Oliver  Atherton,  went  into  mourning ; 
and  with  a  pale,  sanctimonious  face,  and  eyes  made  red 
by  wiping,  if  not  by  weeping,  managed  to  appear  the  most 
disconsolate  of  mourners ;  so  much  so,  that  it  was  often 
remarked  by  those  who  knew  not  the  heart  of  the  dissem- 
bler, that  he  must  have  loved  his  relative  dearly  to  take 
his  death  so  hard. 

After  a  proper  time  given  to  sorrow,.  Oliver  notified  his 


THE   PAST   RECALLED.  53 


sister  that  it  would  now  be  necessary  to  have  the  estate  of 
his  dear  brother  Ethan  settled  according  to  law,  and  that 
as  he  was  aware  the  deceased  had  made  a  will,  it  would 
be  proper  to  have  it  brought  forward  and  read.  To  this, 
of  course,  Mrs.  Courtly  assented ;  but  judge  of  her  astonish- 
ment, and  that  of  her  friends,  on  learning  that,  out  of  the 
vast  estate  of  her  late  husband,  only  five  thousand  dollars 
had  been  bequeathed  to  herself  and  children ;  while  the 
remainder,  amounting  at  the  least  calculation,  to  many 
hundred  thousand  dollars,  including  the  splendid  home 
mansion,  had  been  bestowed  upon  Oliver — with  the  proviso, 
that  should  he  die  childless,  it  must  revert  to  Edgar  and 
Virginia  and  their  issue — or,  in  case  of  their  demise  with- 
out issue,  to  the  next  heir  or  heirs  at  law. 

Surprised  and  shocked  as  she  was  at  this  stunning  intel- 
ligence, Mrs.  Courtly  doubted  not  it  was  all  correct ;  and 
believing  that  her  late  husband,  whom  she  completely 
idolized,  had  had  a  proper  motive  for  what  he  had  done, 
and  that  it  would  all  prove  for  the  best  in  the  end,  she  never 
once  attempted  to  dispute  the  claim  of  Oliver,  or  break 
the  will  and  sue  for  her  thirds,  as  all  her  friends  advised 
her  to  do. 

"  No,"  she  would  say,  in  answer  to  the  many  solicita- 
tions that  she  would  do  so  and  so ;  "  Ethan  knew  what  was 
best,  and  far  be  it  from  me  to  alter  what  he  designed.  My 
happiness  consists  in  conforming  to  his  desires." 

Finding  her  determined  on  the  matter,  her  friends  soon 
ceased  to  importune  her,  and  Oliver  had  it  all  his  own 
way.  Knowing  it  required  the  most  skilful  management 
to  effect  his  avaricious  purpose,  without  wounding  the 
sensitive  nature  of  his  sister,  he  redoubled  his  grief  and 
duplicity,  and  went  about  bemoaning  to  her  his  hard  fate, 
in  being  obliged  to  dispose  of  this  thing  and  that,  to  carry 
out  the  desires  of  his  dearly  beloved  brother,  and  always 


54  THE   FORGED  WILL. 

ended  by  saying,  that  when  the  estate  should  have  become 
properly  settled,  he  would  give  her  a  deed  of  the  home- 
stead, and  settle  upon  her  an  independency  for  life.  This 
promised  providence  for  her  future  wants  satisfied  Mrs. 
Courtly,  and  she  saw  her  fine  home  sold  over  her  head, 
without  a  murmur,  firmly  believing  her  brother  would  keep 
his  word,  and  in  due  time  restore  her  all.  In  sooth, 
though  she  knew  her  brother  had  once  been  very  worldly- 
minded,  yet  of  late  years  he  had  been  so  guarded  in  her 
presence,  so  sanctimonious  and  demure,  that  she,  poor 
woman,  now  truly  believed  there  had  been  a  wonderful 
reformation  at  heart. 

It  was  at  least  a  year  or  more  from  the  reported  death 
of  Ethan  Courtly  ere  Oliver  Atherton  had  settled  every 
thing  to  his  satisfaction.  By  this  time,  estates,  ships, 
negroes,  goods,  and  chattels,  each  and  all,  had  been  dis- 
posed of;  and  with  the  money  they  brought,  in  his  posses- 
sion, Oliver  informed  his  sister  that  she  might  now  remain 
contented  in  her  home ;  that  all  had  been  arranged  to  her 
desire  ;  and  that  he,  with  his  wife  and  children,  with  the 
first  of  whom  he  had  now  become  reconciled,  were  on  the 
point  of  leaving  for  New  York,  where  they  hoped  to  have 
the  pleasure  of  her  society  occasionally. 

Thus  they  parted :  and  never  for  a  moment  did  Mrs. 
Courtly  doubt  the  word  of  her  brother,  until  notified, 
about  six  months  after  he  had  left,  that  she  must  vacate 
the  premises  she  then  occupied,  as  the  mansion,  appurte- 
nances, and  grounds  had  been  purchased  by  a  gentleman 
who  was  now  desirous  of  taking  immediate  possession. 
For  some  time  Mrs.  Courtly  could  not  be  brought  to 
believe  her  brother  had  acted  so  -base  and  ungrateful  a 
part ;  and  she  at  once  wrote  to  him,  asking  an  explanation. 
After  considerable  delay  she  received  an  answer  to  the 
effect  that  he  was  very  sorry  to  say  the  matter  of  sale  was 


THE   PAST   RECALLED.  55 

true ;  that  he  had  done  it  to  oblige  a  friend,  who  had  set 
his  heart  upon  having  that  residence  ;  but  that  to  compen- 
sate his  sister,  he  was  already  negotiating  for  a  residence, 
every  way  its  superior,  which,  in  case  she  resolved  to 
come  to  New  York,  he  would  certainly  purchase  and  pre- 
sent her. 

For  the  first  time  the  truth  flashed  upon  Mrs.  Courtly, 
that  both  she  and  her  lamented  husband  had  been  the  blind 
dupes  of  an  artful  and  ungrateful  villain ;  and  so  sudden, 
powerful,  and  heart-sickening  was  the  shock  of  this  convic- 
tion, which  she  gained  on  reading  his  letter,  that,  clasping 
her  forehead  and  staggering  back,  she  sunk  senseless  to 
the  ground,  and  a  delirious  fever  followed,  which  nearly 
cost  her  her  life  at  the  time,  and  from  the  effects  of  which 
she  never  fully  recovered. 

We  must  now  hurry  to  the  close  of  this  history,  which 
we  fear  has  already  become  tedious  to  the  reader;  but 
with  which,  notwithstanding,  it  was  all  important  he  should 
be  made  acquainted. 

For  a  long  time  Mrs.  Courtly  did  not  answer  the  epistle 
of  her  brother.  As  soon  as  able,  she  quitted  her  once 
loved  home,  with  a  breaking  heart,  yielding  it  up  to 
strangers,  and  seeking  a  more  humble  abode  for  herself — 
both  her  children  now  being  at  school — and  she  fully  deter- 
mined to  spend  every  cent,  if  necessary,  in  giving  them 
what  could  not  take  wings  and  fly  away — a  good  educa- 
tion. 

And  it  did  take  every  cent ;  and  at  last  Mrs.  Courtly 
was  obliged  to  recall  Edgar  and  Virginia,  for  want  of 
means  to  longer  support  them  abroad.  Two  years  now 
passed ;  and  then,  reduced  almost  to  beggary,  she  wrote 
to  her  brother,  detailing  her  wants,  cares,  and  anxieties* 
Having  waited  a  long  while,  and  receiving  no  answer,  Mrs. 
Courtly  determined  on  proceeding  to  New  York  herself. 


56  THE   FORGED   WILL. 

and  making  an  appeal  to  him  in  propria  personse.  To 
carry  out  this  design,  she  sold  her  few  remaining  effects, 
and  with  the  proceeds  set  out  on  her  journey,  accompanied 
by  Edgar  and  Virginia.  We  have  not  space  here  to  follow 
her  through  all  her  weary  trials  and  disappointments,  after 
her  arrival  in  New  York,  up  to  the  moment  she  was 
brought  before  the  reader ;  but  suffice,  that,  to  her  horror 
and  despair,  she  found  herself  disowned  by  him  from  whom 
she  expected  aid ;  and,  in  a  strange  land,  among  strangers, 
cast  upon  a  cold,  heartless  world,  and  doomed  to  suffer  all 
the  misery  an  innocent  being  can  feel.  Several  times  did 
Edgar  call  up^fl  his  uncle  and  ask  for  aid — but  always  to 
be  insulted  and  refused ;  and  even  the  negro  servant,  once 
his  father's  slave,  now  began  to  pride  himself  on  his 
equality  with  the  poor  relations  of  his  present  master,  as 
has  already  been  shown  by  his  conduct  and  language  in 
the  opening  chapter.  Vainly  did  Edgar  seek  for  employ- 
ment from  day  to  day.  Nothing  could  he  obtain,  for  the 
reason  that,  having  done  nothing  through  life,  he  could 
not  bring  experience  to  back  his  suit.  Day  by  day  did 
the  Courtlys  find  themselves  becoming  more  and  more  re- 
duced— for  though  very  economical  now,  every  little  they 
spent  made  a  wide  breach  in  their  limited  means.  To 
render  matters  still  worse,  the  health  of  Mrs.  Courtly 
began  to  fail  rapidly ;  and  it  soon  became  painfully  evi- 
dent to  her  children,  that  unless  a  great  change  took  place 
for  the  better,  they  would  ere  long  be  orphans. 

But  notwithstanding  her  ailings,  Mrs.  Courtly  would  not 
consent  to  see  a  physician,  because  of  the  extra  expense 
which  would  thus  be  incurred,  and  which  they  were  now  so 
illy  fitted  to  bear.  As  it  was,  they  were  obliged  to  dispose 
of  their  jewelry,  old  family  relics,  and  finally  the  greater 
part  of  their  wardrobe,  to  pay  their  rent  and  procure  the 
necessaries  of  .life.  Even  these  failed  them  at  last ;  and 


THE   PAST   RECALLED.  57 

only  a  few  days  previous  to  our  introduction  of  them  to  the 
reader,  their  stony-hearted  landlord  seized  upon  and  sold 
their  furniture,  and  turned  them  into  the  street,  with  only 
a  few  remaining  articles.  The  hovel  where  we  found  them 
seemed  the  only  retreat  now  open;  and  into  this  they 
gathered  their  remaining  effects,  preferring  even  this  to 
begging  for  a  better.  Their  last  cent  was  now  soon  spent 
for  fuel  and  food,  and  the  reader  has  seen  even  the  last  of 
these.  The  health  of  Mrs.  Courtly  now  failed  more  and 
more  rapidly,  until  exhausted  nature  could  sustain  her  no 
longer ;  and  suffering  from  cold,  dampness,  want  of  food, 
proper  nursing  and  medical  attendance,  together  with  grief, 
care  and  anxiety  for  her  children,  she  literally  died  of 
starvation  and  a  broken  heart. 


CHAPTER  V. 

PLANS  FOR  THE  FUTURE. 

THE  day  following  the  funeral  of  Mrs.  Courtly,  saw 
Edgar  and  his  sister  located  in  small  but  comfortable  lodg- 
ings, some  three  or  four  squares  from  their  previously 
wretched  abode.  This  was  effected  at  the  instance  of  Ellen, 
who  insisted  they  should  at  once  remove  to  better  quarters, 
and  for  this  purpose  generously  provided  them  with  further 
means  to  do  so.  She  had  many  delicate  scruples  to  over- 
come in  effecting  this  change ;  for  though  excessively  in 
need,  Edgar  was  naturally  very  proud,  and  could  not  bear 
of  being  under  further  pecuniary  obligations  to  one  on 
whom  he  had  no  claim ;  nor  would  he,  in  fact,  have  con- 
sented to  the  arrangement  at  all,  but  for  his  sweet  sister, 
•whom  it  sorely  wrung  his  heart  to  behold  suffering  the  pangs 
of  poverty.  For  himself  he  knew  he  could  provide  in  some 
way — but  what  meantime  would  become  of  Virginia ! — and 
this  the  generous  Ellen  used  as  a  plea  for  him  to  accede  to 
her  proposition.  It  was  galling,  too,  to  one  bred  in  the 
affluence  he  had  been,  to  be  indebted  to  the  wages  of  sin — 
to  money  earned  by  guilt — for  the  bettering  of  his  condi- 
tion ;  but  poverty  and  circumstances  are  many  times 
powerful  combatants  of  sensitive  scruples,  and  so  they 
proved  in  the  present  instance. 

"  I  will  accept  her  aid  as  a  loan,"  he  at  last  said,  "  until 

kind  Providence  furnishes  me  with  the  means  of  repaying 

the  debt  with  interest — for  beggars  must  certainly  not  be 

choosers — and  without  this  assistance,  now  that  my  check 

(58) 


PLANS  FOR  THE  FUTUKE.  59 

is  irrecoverably  lost,  starvation  stares  us  in  the  face.  And 
why,"  he  further  reasoned,  "  should  I  decline  the  means 
which  doubtless  Heaven  has  placed  in  my  way  for  a  wise 
purpose  ?  Who  knows  but  in  accepting,  I  shall  eventually  be 
the  instrument  in  the  hands  of  Providence,  of  reclaiming  an 
erring  one  from  the  perdition  to  which  she  is  fast  hasten- 
ing?" 

Having  thus  settled  the  matter  in  his  own  mind,  he  went 
zealously  to  work,  and  a  couple  of  hours  search  put  him  in 
possession  of  two  very  pleasant  rooms,  located  in  the 
second  story  of  a  small  private  dwelling  on  Elizabeth  street, 
to  which  access  could  be  had  by  a  flight  of  stairs  from  without 
— so  that  he  was  as  much  secluded  from  a  forced  contact  with 
others  as  if  occupying  the  entire  premises.  Hither  he  at 
once  removed  his  sister,  and  what  little  furniture  was  still 
remaining ;  and  then  by  a  judicious  purchase  of  a  few 
second-hand  articles  in  Chatham  Square,  among  which  was 
a  carpet  for  the  floor,  he  succeeded,  at  a  very  small  outlay, 
in  giving  the  apartments  an  air  of  comfort  and  tidiness,  to 
which  both  himself  and  his  sister  had  of  late  been  strangers 
— and  which  contrasting  with  their  previously  wretched 
abode,  made  the  present  one  seem  a  paradise.  Edgar  next 
purchased  a  few  groceries  and  some  fuel,  *and  Virginia  pre- 
pared the  evening  meal — for  by  this  time  the  day  was  drawing 
to  a  close — and  as  they  sorrowfully  partook  of  their  first 
morsel  since  breaking  fast  in  the  morning,  and  thought  of 
their  poor,  dead  mother,  no  longer  with  them  to  share  their 
griefs  or  joys,  both  wept  freely,  in  silence — but  wept  as 
those  who,  not  altogether  despairing,  feel  there  is  some- 
thing still  to  live  for — as  those  who  have  some  hope  in  the 
future,  and  believe  that  day  is  again  dawning  upon  a  night 
of  rayless  gloom. 

Poor,  bitterly  wronged  orphans  !  Who  can  sum  up  and 
realize  their  misery,  without  experience  of  the  same  kind ! 


60  THE   FORGED   WILL. 

Alone  upon  the  wide  world,  without  home  or  friends,  and 
indebted  to  the  charity  of  a  frail  female  stranger  for  bread 
to  keep  them  from  starvation  !  And  these,  too,  they  who 
once  rolled  in  all  the  luxury  wealth  can  give,  whose  hands 
were  never  soiled  by  labor,  and  whose  exalted  position  in 
society  ever  held  them  aloof  from  the  mercenary,  coarse 
and  vulgar  minds  with  which  they  must  now  be  brought  in 
contact.  Do  not  let  the  reader  here  misunderstand  us,  by 
supposing  we  intend  to  convey  the  idea  that  they  were  bet- 
ter for  never  having  labored.  No,  Heaven  forbid !  for  labor 
is  ever  honorable,  while  indolence  is  reprehensible.  We 
only  design  to  portray  more  strongly  the  suffering  they 
must  perforce  endure,  from  the  great  contrast  of  their 
present  with  the  past. 

For  a  long  time  both  thought  and  wept  in  silence,  neither 
intruding  an  observation  upon  the  grief  of  the  other. 
Edgar  was  the  first  to  speak.  Rising  from  the  table,  after 
having  ate  sparingly,  he  approached  his  sister,  and  throw- 
ing an  arm  around  her  neck  and  drawing  her  gently  to 
him,  said,  tenderly : 

"  Let  us  try  to  weep  no  more,  my  sweet  sister !  Let  us 
dry  our  tears,  and  prepare,  like  philosphers,  to  enact  our 
parts,  and  pass  through  the  ordeal  of  fate  without  a  mur- 
mur. Life  at  the  longest  is  not  long,  and  death  will  come 
at  last  to  relieve  us  of  our  sorrows." 

"  But  Edgar,"  sobbed  Virginia,  "  I  am  thinking  of  our 
dear,  dear  mother." 

"  I  know  it,  sweet  sister,  and  so  am  I.  But  the  thought 
has  struck  me,  it  is  very  wrong  to  mourn  for  one  who  has 
exchanged  our  wretchedness  for  the  happiness  of  Heaven." 

"  Ah !"  sighed  the  other,  "  I  see  I  am  selfish ;  for  it  is 
not  so  much  for  her  I  mourn,  as  for  myself;  not  for  her 
loss,  but  my  own.  Oh !  how  we  both  will  miss  her  sage 
advice  and  prayerful  counsel !" 


PLANS   FOR   THE   FUTURE.  61 

"  But  she  is  in  heaven,"  pursued  Edgar.  "  Let  that 
thought  be  uppermost,  and  dry  your  eyes.  I  would  not 
recall  her  if  I  could — for  she,  at  least,  drank  sorrow  to  the 
dregs,  and  should  forevermore  be  spared  the  bitter  cup." 

After  a  pause  of  a  few  minutes,  during  which  Virginia 
gradually  became  more  calm,  Edgar  resumed : 

"  And  now,  my  sister,  let  us  speak  on  another  subject, 
but  one  I  fear  scarcely  less  painful.  By  the  kindness  of 
one  I  can  never  forget,  we  have  been  enabled  to  exchange 
utter  wretchedness  and  starvation  for  something  like  com- 
fort ;  but  still  the  very  thought  of  how  this  has  been  effect- 
ed, gives  me  pain.  To  think  we  have  taken  money,  earned  * 
by  guilt,  to  better  our  condition,  is  revolting  to  my  nature ; 
and  I  can  never  rest  until  it  be  returned,  and  she  who  so 
generously  assisted  us  be  reclaimed.  To  effect  the 
former,  I  must  seek  and  find  employment,  with  wages  n>ore 
than  sufficient  to  support  us ;  while  the  latter  I  leave  to 
you ;  and  let  us  both  set  about  our  tasks  with  a  right  good 
will,  and  energies  that  will  not  allow  us  to  fail.  To-morrow, 
early,  if  God  spares  my  life,  I  shall  make  a  bold  move. 
Surely,  in  this  great  city,  supporting  its  three  hundred 
thousand  inhabitants,  there  is  something  I  can  find  where- 
by to  gain  an  honorable  living.  True,  Ixhave  tried  before 
and  failed  ;  but  that  is  no  reason  I  must  again ;  and  some- 
thing whispers  me  I  shall  succeed.  So  cheer  up,  my  sweet 
sister  !  for  it  is  an  old  saying,  the  darkest  hour  but  barely 
precedes  the  dawn.  To-morrow,  probably,  while  I  am  away, 
Ellen  will  be  here  to  see  you ;  and  you  must  use  your  best 
abilities  to  induce  her  to  quit  the  terrible  life  she  is  at  pre- 
sent leading.  Begin  with  her  gently  and  feelingly,  as  you 
best  know  how,  and  gradually  progress  until  your  righteous 
purpose  be  accomplished — which  done,  I  shall  feel  that  we 
have  not  wholly  lived  in  vain." 

"Ah!   dear  brother,"  cried  Virginia,  with  a  burst  of 


62  THE   FORGED   WILL. 

affection,  throwing  her  arms  around  his  neck  and  pressing 
her  lips  to  his,  "  how  much  you  are  like  our  dear,  dear 
mother,  in  your  counsels !  I  will  do  all  you  ask  of  me, 
and  ten  times  more  if  it  be  in  my  power.  Poor  Ellen.  If  I 
can  be  the  humble  means  of  reclaiming  her,  filling  her 
heart  with  happiness  again,  I  feel  I  can  then  smile  at  my 
own  misery,  and  thank  God  it  has  been  for  some  useful  end. 
But  more  than  this,  dear  brother,  I  must  assist  you.  I,  too, 
perhaps,  can  find  employment " 

"Nay,"  interrupted  Edgar,  "I  could  not  see  you  labor. 
I  could  not  see  your  delicate  constitution  broken  down  by 
toil,  and  thus  prepared  for  an  early  grave.  No,  Virginia, 
you  were  never  bred  to  work,  and  it  would  kill  you." 

"  And  you,  Edgar — you  who  have  been  brought  up  in  the 
game  manner  as  myself — how  then  will  you  bear  it  ?" 

"  I  am  a  man,  Virginia,  with  an  iron  constitution,  and 
am  by  nature  fitted  for  the  rough  scenes  of  life — at  least 
far  more  so  than  you.  No,  no,  Virginia — leave  all  to  me ; 
I  can  provide  for  both ;  but  to  see  you  toil  would  render 
me  miserable." 

In  like  conversation  the  evening  passed  away — Virginia 
insisting  it  was  her  duty,  in  their  altered  circumstances,  to 
assist  her  brother,  and  he  contending  to  the  contrary  most 
strenuously.  At  an  early  hour  both  retired  to  rest,  and 
with  the  gray  of  the  morning  both  were  again  astir. 
Making  a  hasty  breakfast,  Edgar  kissed  and  bade  his  sister 
be  of  good  cheer  in  his  absence — as  in  all  probability  he 
•would  return  with  welcome  tidings — and  then  sallied  forth 
to  seek  employment  in  the  great  metropolis,  prepared  to 
put  his  hand  to  any  honest  pursuit  that  W9uld  return  a  fit- 
ting recompense. 

As  yet  the  sun  had  scarcely  risen ;  but  still  the  great 
city  was  swarming  with  citizens,  mostly  of  the  laboring 
class,  all  pushing  forward  to  their  daily  task — some  with 


PLANS  FOR   THE  FUTURE.  G3 

pale,  sickly,  sorrowful  visages,  and  some  with  countenances 
cheerful  and  gay — each  an  index  of  the  heart  within.  Ven- 
ders of  all  kinds  were  abroad,  each  loudly  crying  his 
particular  article  of  traffic,  which,  from  long  hahit,  had 
become  rather  a  peculiar  discordant  scream,  than  any  sound 
or  word  a  stranger  might  find  intelligible.  Omnibusses, 
hacks,  drays,  coal-carts,  bread-carts,  market- wagons,  and 
numerous  other  kinds  of  vehicles,  rumbled  over  the  stony 
pavements,  blocked  up  the  crossings,  occasionally  startled 
the  foot-passers,  and  thundered  out  the  fact  that  the  busi- 
ness of  the  day  had  truly  begun. 

As  Edgar  slowly  pursued  his  way  down  the  Bowery  into 
Chatham  Square,  down  Chatham  Street  toward  Park  Row, 
and  noted  that  every  one  he  met  seemed  to  have  some 
employment,  either  present  or  prospective,  he  thought  to 
himself  how  happy  was  their  condition  compared  with  his, 
who  had  nothing  but  trouble  to  occupy  his  mind.  Ah ! 
little  did  he  know  that  many  who  passed  him  with  rapid 
steps,  were  hurrying  to  a  daily  task,  that,  while  it  was 
literally  crushing  them,  under  its  iron  burthen,  barely 
returned  a  pittance  sufficient  to  keep  soul  and  body  together. 
Little  did  he  know  that  those  who  seemed  better  off  than  he, 
were  dying  by  inches  under  excessive  ttoil,  that  the  poor 
beings  they  loved,  and  who  were  solely  dependent  on  them, 
might  eke  out  a  miserable  existence.  Little  did  he  know 
this,  or  he  might  have  been  more  contented  with  his  own 
situation,  trying  as  it  was,  and  felt  he  had  less  cause  to 
complain  than  they.  We  are  too  prone  to  think  our  own 
troubles  and  afflictions  the  most  severe ;  and  this  because 
we  know  and  feel  our  own,  while  those  of  others  are  wholly 
shut  from  us. 

For  a  long  time  Edgar  could  not  summon  resolution  to 
ask  for  employment  at  the  different  places  where  there 
seemed  a  possibility  of  his  obtaining  it,  lest  he  should  be 


64  THE  FORGED  WILL. 

refused  in  a  way  to  wound  his  sensitive  feelings.  And  then, 
what  occupation  should  he  ask  for  ?  and  what  experience 
or  recommendation  could  he  hring  to  aid  him,  even  should 
the  services  of  one  like  himself  be  desired?  He  had 
done  nothing  through  life,  a*hd  consequently  knew  no  more 
of  one  business  than  another ;  but  the  fancy  struck  him, 
that  could  he  obtain  a  place  as  salesman  in  some  kind  of 
a  store,  he  could  easily  make  himself  useful  and  give  satis- 
faction to  his  employer.  With  the  design  of  seeking  some- 
thing of  this  kind,  he  passed  the  various  shops  of  traffic, 
with  many  a  wistful  look,  but  still  without  venturing  within 
to  make  the  necessary  inquiries.  At  last,  after  traversing  the 
entire  extent  of  Chatham  street  and  Square  for  the  third 
time,  and  knowing  that  nothing  would  ever  be  accomplished 
in  this  way,  he  made  bold  to  address  a  middle-aged  gentle- 
man, who  was  standing  in  the  door  of  a  furniture  ware-room. 

"  Sir,"  he  said,  "  can  you  inform  me  where  a  young  man 
like  myself  can  find  employment?" 

"  What  to  do  ?"  asked  the  other. 

"Any  thing  that  is  honorable." 

"For  the  matter  of  that,"  returned  the  other,  "almost 
any  thing  is  honorable  that  a  body  can  make  a  living  at 
these  times.  Did  you  ever  act  as  salesman  ?" 

"  I  never  have,  but  think  I  could  soon  give  my  employer 
satisfaction." 

"  Umph  !  perhaps.  You  look  like  a  young  man  of  good 
address.  I  suppose  you  can  write !" 

"  Certainly,"  answered  Edgar,  promptly ;  "  I  have  been 
blessed  with  a  good  education." 

"  Can  bring  good  references,  I  suppose  ?" 

''Why,  unfortunately,"  replied  Edgar,  coloring,  "I  am 
a  stranger  in  the  city,  and  have  no  friend  here  to  refer 
to." 

"Umph!  that's  bad !"  rejoined  the  other.     "So  much 


PLANS   FOR   THE  FUTURE.  65 

cheating  going  on  now-a-days,  so  many  dishonest  persons 
about  that  one  don't  like  to  take  a  stranger  into  one's  ser- 
vice without  knowing  something  ahout  him.  Now  if  you 
only  had  experience,  and  good  references,  and  could  come 
here  at  six  in  the  morning  and  work  till  nine  and  ten  at 
night,  and  do  every  thing  that  would  be  asked  of  you,  with- 
out grumbling,  I  have  no  doubt  you  would  suit  me,  for  just 
such  a  person  I  want,  and  would  be  willing  to  pay  such  an 
one  good  wages.  But  as  you  are  deficient  in  at  least  two 
of  these  requisites,  why,  I  suppose  I  shall  have  to  look  fur- 
ther." 

"  And  suppose  I  were  all  you  desire,  what  would  be  my 
salary  ?"  asked  Edgar. 

"  Why,  in  that  case,  I  can  afford  to  be  rather  liberal ; 
and  say  you  boarded  yourself,  allow  you  from  two  and  a 
half  to  three  dollars  per  week — at  least  through  the  busy 
season." 

"  And  this  you  call  liberality  ?"  returned  Edgar.  "  God 
help  the  poor!"  and  he  walked  away  with  a  desponding 
heart.  . 

For  an  hour  or  more  Edgar  traversed  the  streets  in  a 
very  unpleasant  state  of  mind,  ere  venturing  on  a  second 
application.  And  when  at  last  he  did  make  another  trial, 
it  was  only  to  meet  with  a  result  similar  to  the  first.  Grown 
somewhat  desperate  and  less  sensitive  through  failure,  Edgar 
now  determined,  that  in  case  he  did  not  succeed,  it  should 
not  be  his  fault,  and  consequently  went  boldly  to  work, 
pushing  his  suit  wherever  there  seemed  a  possibility  of 
success.  For  hours  he  pursued  this  course ;  but  meeting 
every  where  with  disappointment,  and  being  nearly  over- 
come with  fatigue  and  anxiety,  he  finally  gave  up  in  des- 
pair ;  and  strolling  into  Tammany  Hall,  threw  himself 
down  upon  a  scat,  with  the  air  of  one  who  feels  his  last  hope 
nas  departed. 

G 


GC  THE   FOKGED   WILL. 

"  It  is  no  use  to  longer  strive,"  he  muttered  despomlingly. 
"  I  can  accomplish  nothing.  I  am  doomed  to  fail  where 
others  succeed.  Oh  !  why  was  I  born  !  Mother,  thou  saint 
in  Heaven,  I  would  I  were  with  thee !  Come,  Death ! 
dread  monster  as  thou  art  called — thou  terrifying  Invisible 
— come  here  and  strike  !  strike  to  the  heart  at  once  !  and 
thou  shalt  behold  a  rare  sight — a  human  face  that  will  not 
blanch — a  human  form  that  will  not  tremble  at  thy  sum- 
mons." 

As  he  said  this  half  aloud,  his  eye  chanced  upon  a  news-, 
paper  lying  on  a  seat  beside  him  ;  and  mechanically  raising 
it,  he  glanced  over  the  columns  in  a  listless  manner,  as  one 
who  reads  while  the  mind  is  occupied  with  other  matters. 
For  several  minutes  he  sat  gazing  upon  the  paper,  some- 
times distinguishing  a  word,  and  sometimes  beholding  the 
letters  all  blurred  and  indistinct.  At  length  something 
appeared  to  arrest  his  attention — for  he  straightened  him- 
self up,  drew  the  paper  nearer  to  him,  while  his  eyes 
brightened,  and  no  longer  exhibited  a  vacant  stare.  The 
cause  of  this  change  in  his  appearance,  was  an  advertise- 
ment which  read  as  follows  ; 

*  "  POETS,  ATTENTION  !  A  gentleman  requires  a  poetical 
address,  for  a  certain  purpose,  for  which,  if  suitable,  he 
will  pay  handsomely.  The  length,  subject,  and  remunera- 
tion will  be  made  known  to  applicants.  Address  C.  B.  E. 
office." 

Edgar  was  by  nature  a  poet,  and  in  his  leisure  hours 
had  written  some  beautiful  stanzas,  which  his  modesty  had 
thus  far  concealed  from  the  public.  His  talents  in  this 
line  he  had  never  thought  of  turning  to  account  until  now. 

"Perhaps!"  he  exclaimed,  with  an  energy  that  drew 
many  eyes  upon  him:  "Perhaps  !"  and  immediately  pro- 
curing pen,  ink,  and  paper,  he  wrote  a  few  lines  and  left 


PLANS   FOR   THE   FUTURE.  67 

in  haste  for  office,  where  he  deposited  the  note, 

superscribed  in  accordance  with  the  advertisement.  Having 
done  this  he  departed,  with  the  intention  of  returning 
home ;  but  he  had  scarcely  gone  fifty  yards,  when  a  hand 
on  his  shoulder  arrested  him,  and  turning,  he  beheld  an 
elegantly  dressed  gentleman,  with  the  billet  he  had  just 
deposited,  open  in  his  hand. 

"  I  beg  pardon  !"  said  the  stranger,  blandly ;  "  but  have 
I  the  pleasure  of  addressing  the  writer  of  this,  Edgar 
Courtly  ?" 

"  That  is  my  name,  at  your  service,"  returned  Edgar, 
with  a  graceful  and  dignified  inclination  of  the  head. 

"I  chanced  to  be  in  the  office  and  saw  you  leave  it, 
addressed  to  my  initials,"  pursued  the  other,  explanatory, 
"and  hastened  to  overtake  you,  that  the  matter  in  ques- 
tion might  be  the  more  speedily  arranged." 

"I  am  most  happy,  sir,"  rejoined  Edgar,  "to  make  your 
acquaintance  so  much  sooner  than  I  anticipated." 

"I  perceive  by  this,"  continued  the  gentleman,  whom 
we  shall  call  Elmer,  pointing  to  the  epistle,  "  that  you 
have  had  experience  in  poetical  composition." 

"I  have  written  some  little,"  replied  Edgar,  blushing; 
"but  perhaps  I  am  incompetent  to  perform  what  you 
require." 

"  That,"  rejoined  Mr.  Elmer,  "  must  be  decided  here- 
after. I  am,  as  you  must  know,  an  actor,  at  present  fulfill- 
ing an  engagement  at  the  Park.  One  week  from  to-night 
my  engagement  closes — the  last  prior  to  my  departure  for 
Europe.  Now  what  I  desire  is  this :  I  wish  to  take  leave 
with  a  poetical  address  of  from  seventy-five  to  one  hundred 
lines,  expressive  of  my  feelings."  Here  he  explained, 
explicitly,  what  he  wanted,  and  wound  up  by  saying : 
"  And  now  for  the  best  address  of  this  kind,  sent  me 


68  THE   FORGED   WILL. 

\vithin  five  days,  I  am  willing  to  pay  the  sum  of  fifty  dol- 
lars— certainly,  to  my  thinking,  a  liberal  remuneration." 

"  It  is  indeed !"  returned  Edgar,  much  excited  at  the 
prospect  of  obtaining  the  reward.  "  Sir,  I  will  do  my  best 
to  please  you." 

"But  I  must  warn  you  of  competition,"  pursued  the 
other.  "  I  have  had  several  interviews  with  poets  already, 
each  of  whom  has  promised  a  trial,  and  I  shall  perhaps 
have  many  more,  so  that  he  who  gains  the  prize  must  do 
so  by  merit  alone." 

On  hearing  this,  the  "countenance  of  Edgar  somewhat 
fell — for  he  thought  to  himself,  "  What  chance  have  I 
among  so  many  ?  But  then,"  he  reasoned,  "  I  can  but  fail 
at  the  worst,  and  may  succeed — in  which  event — "  here 
his  feelings  becoming  powerfully  excited,  he  hastily  in- 
quired the  residence  of  Elmer,  shook  his  hand,  and  turned 
away,  with  the  observation  that  he  would  soon  hear  from 
him  again. 

With  a  fluttering  heart,  palpitating  between  hope  and 
fear,  Edgar  hurried  through  the  crowded  streets,  heedless 
of  all  he  met  or  passed,  his  mind  occupied  with  one  joyful 
thought,  that, of  cheering  the  drooping  spirits  of  his  sweet 
sister  with  his  new  hopes  and  expectations.  Arrived  at 
his  new  home,  he  sprang  lightly  up  the  stairs  and  into  his 
own  apartments,  expecting  to  take  his  sister  by  surprise. 

The  next  moment  he  felt  a  chilling  sensation  creep  over 
him — a  sensation  as  awful  as  the  coming  of  death.  Where- 
fore the  cause  ? 

The  rooms  were  tenantless — his  sister  was  gone — and 
echo  alone  answered  to  his  call. 


CHAPTER  VI. 

AN   UNEXPECTED   FRIEND. 

THROWING  himself  upon  a  seat,  in  a  state  of  mind  full 
of  alarm  and  strange  misgivings,  insomuch  that  he  soon 
found  himself  in  a  profuse  perspiration,  Edgar  'sought  to 
invent  a  cause  for  the  absence  of  Virginia.  It  was  so 
singular  she  should  absent  herself  while  he  was  away, 
and  leave  the  house  .unfastened.  Surely  she  could  not 
have  gone  far,  and  would  soon  return !  Somewhat  con- 
soling himself  with  this  idea,  he  waited  rather  impatiently 
for  her  appearance,  hoping  and  expecting  every  moment 
she  would  enter ;  but  .as  minute  after  minute  glided  by, 
and  no  Virginia  came,  he  began  to  grow  alarmed  in  ear- 
nest, and  rising  from  his  seat,  paced  rapidly  to  and  fro  the 
apartment.  At  length,  when  a  half  hour  had  passed, 
bringing  no  intelligence  of  the  missing  one,  the  excitement 
of  Edgar  had  reached  such  an  intensity,  that  he  could  no 
longer  content  himself  in  remaining  idle.  Something  had 
happened,  he  felt  sure,  and  his  heart  fairly  sunk  within 
him  at  the  thought.  Rushing  down  the  stairs  with  the 
haste  of  a  madman,  he  made  eager  inquiries  of  the  people 
living  in  the  lower  story,  and  of  whom  he  rented  his  apart- 
ments. But  they  could  give  him  no  satisfactory  informa- 
tion. They  had  seen  his  sister  go  out  about  an  hour  and 
a  half  before,  alone,  taking  the  direction  of  the  Bowery, 
and  that  was  all  they  knew. 

It  was  past  the  hour  of  noon,  and  Edgar  was  fatigued 
and  hungry ;  but  forgetting  every  thing  but  his  sister, 
6*  (69) 


70  THE   FORGED   WILL. 

•whom  he  somehow  fancied  was  lost,  he  darted  away  in 
search  of  her.  Fortunately,  he  had  not  to  go  far,  ere,  to 
his  great  joy,  he  met  her  returning,  accompanied  by  a 
young  man  of  genteel  appearance,  who  walked  respectfully 
by  her  side,  carrying  a  small  bundle  wrapped  with  paper. 
Edgar  was  not  surprised  at  this,  for  he  fancied  she  had 
been  shopping,  and  that  the  purchased  articles  were  being 
sent  home  as  is  customary. 

"0,  Virginia!"  he  exclaimed,  springing  forward,  and 
seizing  her  hand,  "  how  could  you  so  alarm  me !  For  the 
last  half  hour  I  have  been  on  the  rack  of  agony.  Why 
could  you  not  have  deferred  this  business  till  my  return  ?" 

"  I  thought  to  give  you  a  gentle  surprise,"  replied  Vir- 
ginia ;  "  expecting,  when  I  left,  to  return  before  you ;  but 
I  have  been  disappointed,  and  shall  not  again  attempt  the 
like,  for  already  my  folly  has  found  a  punishment." 

"As  how?"  queried  Edgar,  eagerly. 

" 1  have  been  insulted." 

"Insulted!"  repeated  her  brother;  and  his  dark  eyes 
flashed  angrily  upon  the  stranger. 

"  Nay,"  interposed  Virginia,  divining  his  thoughts,  "  not 
by  him,  Edgar.  This  gentleman  has  proved  my  deliverer." 

"  I  crave  pardon,  sir !"  said  Edgar,  quickly,  changing 
his  manner,  and  cordially  extending  the  other  his  hand. 
"Let  me  thank  you  in  my  sister's  behalf,  and  trust  we 
may  be  friends !" 

"The  latter  most  certainly!"  returned  the  young  man 
with  warmth,  and  a  hearty  shake  of  the  hand;  "  but  as  to 
thanks,  I  know  not  that  one  deserves  them  for  simply 
doing  his  duty.  I  saw  this  lady  annoyed  by  one  whom  I 
had  reason  to  suppose  entertained  evil  intentions,  and  I 
hastened  to  her  protection.  You  should  have  seen  how 
the  offender  slunk  away  as  he  beheld  my  visage,  with  a 
half  uttered  apology  and  look  of  shame — for  well  he  knew 


AN   UNEXPECTED   FRIEND.  71 

me  and  I  him — though  for  various  reasons  I  hardly  feel 
myself  at  liberty  to  give  his  name  at  present.  I  could  not 
again  leave  the  lady  unprotected,  and  so  am  I  here." 

"  But  how  happened  this,  Virginia  ?"  eagerly  inquired 
Edgar. 

"  I  cannot  tell  you  here,"  answered  Virginia,  somewhat 
excited.  "  Let  us  first  go  home,  it  is  but  a  few  steps,  and 
I  wilh  explain  all." 

Here  the  stranger  was  about  to  take  his  leave,  but  Edgar 
and  Virginia  both  insisted  he  should  accompany  them,  and 
accordingly  all  proceeded,  to  the  house  together.  • 

"  And  now,"  said  Virginia,  with  a  bright  flush,  that 
heightened  the  beauty  of  her  lovely  features,  "  I  will  tell 
you,  dear  brother,  how  it  all  happened,  if  you  will  promise, 
before  you  hear  my  story,  to  pardon  any  error  I  may  have 
committed." 

"My  pardon  I  know"  you  will  have,"  answered  Edgar, 
"  no  matter  what  you  have  done,  and  so  I  may  as  well 
grant  it  first  as  last.  Proceed !" 

"  Well,  then,  you  must  know,  as  I  have  before  told  you, 
I  thought  to  give  you  a  gentle  surprise,  and  for  this  pur- 
pose determined,  according  to  my  argument  last  night,  to 
render  you  what  assistance  I  could  in  the  way  of  earning 
a  living." 

"  But,  Virginia " 

"  Do  not  interrupt  me,  and  do  not  frown,  for  you  know 
I  have  your  pardon  already.  Well,  half  the  night  I  pon- 
dered on  what  I  could  do,  and  this  morning  was  still  un- 
decided, when  I  chanced  to  see  a  woman  pass,  carrying  a 
bundle  of  shirts.  Accosting  her,  I  learned  that  she  was 
making  them  for  a  large  manufacturer,  whose  address 
she  gave  me.  I  thought  to  myself  I  could  do  as  well  as 
she ;  and  as  soon  as  she  was  gone,  I  hurried  round  to  the 
place,  expecting  to  return  within  half  an  hour.  The  result 


THE    FORGED    AOLL. 


is,  I  succeeded  in  getting  some  work  to  do ;  but  not  until 
I  had  been  kept  waiting  a  full  hour,  and  had  been  ques- 
tioned as  closely  as  if  I  were  a  thief.  Several  times  I  was 
on  the  point  of  indignantly  leaving — but  then  I  thought 
of  you  dear  brother,  and  felt,  after  all,  it  was  little  to 
endure  for  your  sake." 

"And  what  were  you  to  get  for  all  this  labor?"  asked 
Edgar. 

"  A  dime  for  each  shirt,"  replied  Virginia. 

"  And  how  many  do  you  fancy  you  could  complete  in  a 
day?" 

"  One,  at  least." 

"  One,  my  sweet  sister !  And  you  would  work  off  your 
fingers,  dim  your  eyes  and  ruin  your  health,  for  the  paltry 
Bum  of  a  dime  a  day,  and  all  to  aid  me  !  God  bless  you, 
dear  Virginia,  for  a  noble  soul ! — but  I  cannot  allow  such 
a  sacrifice.  Thank  Heaven  !  I  have  brighter  prospects 
in  view,  of  which  I  will  tell  you  anon.  A  dime  a  day !" 
he  pursued ;  "  how  pitiful !  And  yet  I  suppose  there 
are  hundreds — perhaps  thousands — forced  to  toil  for  even 
this." 

"Indeed  there  are,  sir!"  chimed  in  the  young  man,  who 
on  his  way  hither  had  given  his  name  as  Dudley,  and 
learned  those  of  his  new  acquaintances  in  return :  "  Indeed 
there  are,  Mr.  Courtly ;  thousands,  who  are  not  only  forced 
to  toil  for  this  meagre  sum,  but  are  glad  to  get  even  this, 
to  keep  them  from  starvation." 

"  Ah !  what  a  world !"  sighed  Edgar,  musingly.  "  What 
a  mighty  contrast !  It  does  not  seem  as  though  we  all  had 
one  Heavenly  Father,  as  our  divines  inform  us  from  the 
pulpit  we  have.  Alas!  God  help  the  poor!" 

"Ay,"  rejoined  Dudley,  "God  help  them  indeed!  for 
He  is  all  the  friend  they  have  to  look  to." 


AN   UNEXPECTED   FRIEND.  73 

"But  you  have  not  finished  your  story,  Virginia,"  said 
Edgar,  turning  to  her. 

"While  waiting  for  work,"  resumed  Virginia,  "and 
passing  the  ordeal  of  rather  insulting  interrogatives,  I 
noticed  a  gaudily  dressed  fellow  loitering  about  the  door, 
who  occasionally  stared  at  me  in  an  ungentlemanly  manner ; 
but  I  thought  no  more  of  it,  until,  having  regained  the 
street  and  gone  a  few  yards,  I  found  him  walking  by  my 
side.  Thinking  it  accidental,  I  slackened  my  pace  that  he 
might  pass;  but  to  my  indignant  surprise,  I  found  he 
suited  his  to  mine.  He  then  requested  permission  to  carry 
my  bundle,  as  he  was  going  the  same  way.  I  coldly 
thanked  him  and  informed  him  I  had  no  occasion  for  his 
services. 

"  ' But  you  must,  my  angel,'  he  said. 

"  '  Sir  !'  returned  I  haughtily,  coming  to  an  abrupt  halt, 
'you  are  insulting!  Go  your  way,  and  leave  me  to  go 
mine.' 

"  *  Ton  my  word,'  he  answered,  with  a  leer,  *  you  talk 
prettily,  and  are  really  too  lovely  to  walk  the  streets  alone. 
Come,  let  us  be  companions.' 

"'Leave  me!'  I  cried,  indignantly;  'for  you  are  no 
gentleman.' 

"'Ay,  leave,  sir — begone!'  said  a  voice  behind  me; 
and  turning,  I  beheld  this  gen — a — I  should  say  Mr. 
Dudley,  since  we  have  become  slightly  acquainted,"  con- 
cluded Virginia,  blushing  modestly. 

"  Of  which  acquaintance,"  chimed  in  Dudley,  gallantly, 
with  a  polite  bow  to  Virginia,  "  I  am  most  proud,  and  sin- 
cerely trust  it  may  be  of  long  duration." 

"  The  feeling  is  mutual,  I  assure  you,"  responded  Edgar. 
And  then  he  added,  apologetically :  "  We  were  not  always 
as  we  are  now,  sir.  Born  to  wealth,  we  never  knew  the 
want  of  money  until  after  our  father's  death,  when  our  uncle, 


74  THE   FORGED   WILL. 

his  manager,  came  into  possession  of  nearly  all  his  pro- 
perty, as  I  have  strong  reason  to  believe  most  villainously." 

Here  Edgar  proceeded  to  briefly  sketch  some  of  the 
prominent  events  of  the  past  five  years,  winding  up  with 
an  account  of  his  last  visit  to  his  uncle,  the  manner  in 
which  he  obtained  the  check  and  its  subsequent  loss, 
together  with  the  death  of  his  mother,  adding  at  the 
conclusion : 

"  And  now,  sir,  I  must  say,  I  feel  I  have  been  almost 
too  confiding  to  one  so  late  an  utter  stranger ;  but  there  is 
a  something  in  your  countenance  and  manner,  which,  step 
by  step,  has  drawn  me  on  to  the  full  revelation." 

"I  thank  you,  Mr.  Courtly,  for  the  high  compliment 
thus  paid  me,"  returned  Dudley,  warmly;  "  and  assure  you, 
you  will  never  have  cause  to  regret  your  confidence  as  mis- 
placed. But  a  question,  if  I  may  be  permitted  to  ask  one ; 
for  since  you  have  told  me  your  story,  I  feel  a  deep  interest 
in  your  welfare,  and  will  do  all  in  my  power  to  aid  you. 
Will  you  give  me  the  name  of  your  uncle?" 

Edgar  mused  a  moment,  and  then  said : 

"  I  do  not  know  why  I  should  withhold  it.  It  is  Oliver 
Atherton," 

"What!  the  millionaire!"  cried  Dudley  in  surprise: 
"  Oliver  Atherton,  the  millionaire !  Is  it  possible  ?  No, 
it  cannot  be — there  must  be  some  mistake  !" 

"  Then  you  know  him  ?"  said  Edgar. 

"But  do  you  mean  Oliver  Atherton,  of* street?' 

"  The  same,  Mr.  Dudley." 

"Know  him?  Ay,  I  know  him  well,  and  very  few  that 
do  not,  either  personally  or  by  reputation.  Why,  he  is 
one  of  the  most  prominent  citizens,  although  he  has  been 
but  a  few  years  among  us.  There  is  scarcely  a  charitable 
association  but  is  indebted  to  him  for  a  handsome  dona- 
tion— or  a  charity  subscription  paper  afloat,  that  is  not  led 


AN    UNEXPECTED   FRIEND. 


off  by  his  name,  with  a  round  sum  attached.  Besides,  he 
is  a  member  of  one  of  our  most  popular  churches,  and  is 
every  where  spoken  of  as  a  rich,  but  truly  pious  and  bene- 
volent gentleman." 

"  The  hypocrite  !"  muttered  Edgar,  grindfag  his  teeth. 
"  0,  that  I  could  unmask  him !  but  that  I  may  never  be 
able  to  do — for  he  is  deep,  cunning  and  far-reaching.  Had 
I  the  money  I  wrung  from  him,  I  would  quit  the  city  and 
molest  him  no  more." 

"  Really,  I  am  all  amazement,"  mused  Dudley,  "  and 
hardly  know  what  to  think.  You  say  he  gave  you  a  check, 
which  you  lost,  and  which,  had  you  now,  would  relieve  you 
from  all  embarrassment.  On  whom  was  it  drawn  ?" 

"  If  I  remember  rightly,  John  Peyton  of  Wall  street." 

"You  of  course  have  been  to  stop  payment?" 

"  Good  heavens  !"  ejaculated  Edgar,  with  a  start ;  "  I 
have  overlooked  that."  And  then,  after  a  pause,  he  added  : 
"But  it  matters  not — for  some  poor  wretch  may  as  well 
have  it  as  Atherton," 

"  But  by  stopping  payment,  and  applying  again  to  your 
uncle,  you  may  procure  another." 

Edgar  shook  his  head.    • 

"  I  would  rather  starve,"  he  answered,  "  than  again 
enter  his  hateful  presence  as  a  suitor.  No !  no ! — let  it 
go — let  it  go.  There  will  perhaps  be  some  way  opened, 
by  which  my  dear  sister  and  I  can  live  without  begging 
favors  of  rich  relations ;"  and  as  he  spoke,  he  threw  an 
arm  fondly  around  Virginia,  drew  her  to  him,  and  pressed 
a  kiss  upon  her  lips. 

Dudley  followed  the  movement  with  his  eyes,  and  his 
features  expressed  something  like  envy  of  the  brother ;  and 
the  color  deepened  on  his  cheeks,  and  those  of  Virginia, 
as,  at  the  moment,  they  accidentally,  as  it  were,  exchanged 
glances. 


7G  THE   FORGED   WILL. 

What  were  the  fancies,  the  feelings,  the  emotions  in  the 
breasts  of  each,  we  shall  not  here  pause  to  divine.  Suffice, 
that  in  refinement  of  thought  and  language,  grace  of  man- 
ner, dignity  of  mien  and  personal  appearance,  each  was 
well  calculated  to  inspire  the  other  with  at  least  a  senti- 
ment of  high  regard.  Mr.  Dudley  was  what  in  common 
parlance  would  be  called  a  handsome  man.  His  age  was 
about  twenty-five,  and  in  stature  he  was  full  six  feet,  but 
with  proportions  so  symmetrical  as  not  to  appear  awkward 
or  over-size.  He  seemed  formed  by  nature  for  a  model, 
with  not  a  pound  too  much  or  too  little.  And  then  his 
features  were  as  comely  as  his  person,  with  a  forehead,  nose, 
mouth,  and  chin  of  the  Grecian  cast.  In  his  countenance 
were  no  sinister  lines — no  sly  curves,  where  a  sneer  might 
lurk,  or  hypocrisy  find  a  foothold.  No  !  all  was  open,  and 
frank,  and  honest ;  and  a  single  glance  showed  you  he 
was  a  man  after  God's  own  image.  In  repose,  his  face 
exhibited  a  stern,  thoughtful  benevolence,  as  one  who 
would  do  a  good  act  for  the  act  itself,  and  not  for  the 
reward  which  might  accrue  to  the  doer.  Much  of  this 
expression  was  in  the  eye,  a  dark  gray,  which  rarely 
changed  its  aspect — never,  unless  altered  by  some  one  of 
the  strong  passions  of  his  soul.  His  complexion  was  light, 
with  brown,  curly  hair,  that  added  much  to  his  good  looks. 
Partly  covering  and  under  his  chin  he  wore  his  beard 
unshaved,  but  neatly  trimmed,  which  for  him  was  very 
becoming. 

In  dress  he  had  excellent  taste.  He  wore  nothing  showy 
or  gaudy,  and  yet  every  garment  was  rich,  and  fitted  his 
person  with  the  utmost  exactness.  No  rings,  chains,  or 
breast-pins  were  displayed  as  ornaments,  he  seeming  to 
fancy  that  nature  and  the  tailor  had  done  enough  for  him. 
And  this  was  a  true  index  to  his  mind — as  in  fact  dress 
generally  is — denoting  him  to  be  severely  chaste  and 


AN   UNEXPECTED   FRIEND.  77 

strictly  correct  in  principle.  And  in  fine  it  was  this  cor- 
rect principle  which  brought  about  his  acquaintance  with 
Virginia  and  her  brother,  an  acquaintance  of  which  neither 
party  as  yet  dreamed  the  import.  It  was  not  her  beauty, 
as  some  might  suppose,  which  led  him  to  her  protection. 
No !  he  saw  not  that  till  afterwards.  He  only  saw  a 
female  grossly  insulted,  and  distressed  by  the  attentions 
of  a  villain,  and  he  hastened  to  her  relief;  and  had  she 
been  old  and  excessively  ugly,  his  correct  principle  of 
gallantry  would  have  caused  him  to  do  precisely  as  he  did. 
Not  that  we  would  imply  he  had  no  choice  between  ugliness 
and  beauty ;  that  he  would  have  felt  the  same  interest  in 
Virginia,  had  she  possessed  no  personal  charms;  by  no 
means ;  we  only  wish  to  say,  that  in  the  former  instance  a 
Sense  of  duty  would  have  urged  him  to  do  with  pleasure, 
what  he  now  performed  with  greater  delight. 

After  some  further  conversation  of  a  nature  similar  to 
that  detailed.  Dudley  rose  to  take  his  leave.  Turning  to 
Edgar,  he  took  his  hand  and  said : 

"  Our  meeting  and  acquaintance,  Mr.  Courtly,  I  trust 
may  prove  of  mutual  advantage.  You  may  think  it  a  little 
strange,  that,  having  confided  to  me  some  important  secrets 
of  your  life,  I,  in  return,  tell  you  nothing  of  myself.  But 
you  must  not  think  hard  of  me,  if  I  reveal  nothing  now. 
1  shall  soon  see  you  again,  and  sometime  you  shall  know 
more.  I  have  my  reasons  for  concealment.  Consider  mo, 
.however,  your  friend;  and  should  you  need  my  aid  in  any 
manner,  have  no  scruples  in  so  telling  me,  for  it  will  prove 
a  pleasure  to  me  to  do  you  a  service.  Meantime,  I  will 
make  your  affairs  in  some  measure  my  own ;  and  depend 
upon  it,  if  wrong  has  been  done  you,  in  the  manner  you 
suppose,  the  guilty  shall  be  made  to  feel  it,  no  matter  hovr 
lofty  their  station.  You  may  think  me  boasting,  my  friend 
— but  time  will  show ;  and  when  time  has  shown,  I  trust 
1 


78  THE   FORGED   WILL. 

you  will  have  little  cause  to  regret  having  gained  my 
friendship." 

With  these  somewhat  mysterious  words,  Dudley  again 
shook  Edgar's  hand  warmly,  and  bowing  gracefully  to 
Virginia,  withdrew. 

For  some  time  after  his  departure,  Edgar  and  his  sister 
conversed  about  the  stranger,  or  Dudley  as  he  had  termed 
himself ;  and  then  the  former  proceeded  to  detail  all  that 
had  occurred  in  his  absence,  and  the  sanguine  expectations 
he  had  of  obtaining  the  prize.  Both  were  young,  and, 
notwithstanding  the  terrible  trials  they  had  experienced, 
both  were  full  of  hope.  Friends  seemed  to  rise  up  to  their 
aid  where  they  least  expected  them  ;  and  the  longer  they 
talked,  the  lighter  grew  their  hearts. 

Poor,  bitterly  wronged  orphans  !  Let  us  hope  that  day 
is  again  dawning  upon  their  long,  dark,  and  dismdl  night 
of  adversity. 


CHAPTER    VII. 

THE   HYPOCRITE  AND   HIS   TOOL. 

IN  the  same  elegant  apartment  where  we  first  introduced 
him  to  the  reader,  sat  the  lordly  millionaire,  the  smooth- 
faced, oily-tongued,  hypocritical  Oliver  Atherton.  He 
sat  in  an  easy  chair,  gazing  thoughtfully  into  the  fire — 
perhaps  reflecting  upon  his  past  career,  and  listening  to 
the  still  small  voice  of  conscience — or  perhaps  devising 
some  villainous  scheme  whereby  to  grind  the  faces  of  the 
poor,  put  wealth  in  his  coffers,  heap  wrong  upon  wrong, 
the  while  he  would  make  the  world  believe  him  unexcep- 
tionable in  piety  and  benevolence.  The  latter  most  likely  ; 
for  Oliver  Atherton  was  not  one  to  regret  what  he  had 
•Bone,  so  long  as  he  could  keep  his  cloven  foot  concealed ; 
and  even  in  case  of  exposure,  would  care  less  for  the  crime 
than  its  publicity.  If  the  truth  were  all  told,  he  had 
many  and  black  hearted  sins  to  answer  for;  but  these 
only  troubled  when  they  menaced  him.  With  him,  as  with 
many  others,  crime  was  not  in  the  commission,  but  detec- 
tion ;  and  he  ever  took  all  possible  means  to  guard  against 
the  latter,  by  rearing  a  pinnacle  of  virtue  behind  which  to 
screen  himself — well  knowing  that  the  world  looks  to  the 
deed,  and  not  the  motive,  which  latter  may  be  deeply 
buried  from  human  knowledge.  For  this  he  belonged  to  a 
popular  church,  and,  like  the  Pharisee  of  old,  made  long 
prayers  before  his  fellow-men,  and  wore  a  saint-like  visage 
of  humility  and  attendant  virtues.  For  this  he  gave  libe- 
rally to  benevolent  societies,  where  there  seemed  a  likeli- 

(70) 


80  THE   FORGED   WILL. 

hood  his  name  would  be  publicly  displayed.  For  this  he 
preached  the  virtues  of  a  God,  while  he  plotted  vices  Satan 
might  envy,  and  which  were  fast  bearing  him  down  to  his 
own  damnation.  Beware !  thou  opulent  hypocrite  ! — be- 
ware !  There  is  a  boundary  to  all  things ;  and  thou  of  all 
men,  should'st  beware  thou  dost  not  overstep  thy  limits  ! 

For  a  quarter  of  an  hour,  Oliver  Atherton  removed  not 
his  gaze  from  the  fire ;  but  during  that  time  his  counte- 
nance often  varied  with  the  thoughts  of  his  plotting  brain. 
Now  his  brow  would  contract,  aftd  a  dark  shade  steal 
athwart  his  features,  as  something  seemed  to  perplex  and 
annoy  him ;  and  anon  his  eye  would  softly  twinkle,  and  a 
peculiar  smile  of  deep  meaning  usurp  its  place,  as  though 
he  had  triumphed  over  a  difficult  obstacle.  What  his 
thoughts  were — whether  on  a  new  scheme  or  an  old  one — 
we  shall  not  pause  here  to  investigate,  but  let  them  appear 
for  themselves  in  the  voice  of  the  thinker. 

Ringing  a  small  bell  on  the  table  beside  him,  the  black 
servant  appeared  in  the  door-way. 

"Has  Wesley  come,  Jeff?"  he  questioned. 

"  Yes,  massa,  him  waiting,"  answered  the  negro,  who, 
notwithstanding  his  arrogance  to  Edgar,  and  his  boast  of 
freedom,  did  not  venture  on  dropping  the  usual  term  of 
slavery-servitude,  by  saying  mister. 

"  Bid  him  come  in  !" 

The  black  bowed  and  withdrew,  and  his  place  at  the 
door  was  soon  supplied  by  a  white  man,  carrying  in  his 
hand  a  green  bag,  who  doffed  his  hat  with  deference,  and 
halted  as  if  for  an  order  to  advance.  The  rich  man  had 
again  fixed  his  gaze  on  the  fire,  and  for  a  short  time 
appeared  unconscious  of  the  other's  presence.  Let  us  take 
advantage  of  this  quietude,  to  slightly  glance  at  the  new 
comer. 

In  person  he  was  small  and  slender,  and  very  ungainly, 


THE   HYPOCRITE   AND   HIS   TOOL.  81 

both  in  form  and  feature — :in  the  latter  particular  possess- 
ing a  cunning,,  sinister,  hang-dog  look.  His  black,  coarse 
hair  fell  far  over  a  low,  villainous  forehead,  from  under 
•which,  and  long  black  eye-brows  that  met  over  his  snub 
nose,  two  dark,  fiery  eyes  gleamed  out  maliciously,  and  with 
an  ever  restless  expression  and  movement,  as  if  the  posses- 
sor were  continually  on  the  lookout  to  guard  against  a  sud- 
den attack.  To  compensate  in  some  measure,  as  it  were, 
for  his  extreme  ugliness  and  repulsive  appearance,  nature 
had  endowed  him  with  a  soft,  musical  voice,  and  the  faculty 
of  smiling  in  such  a  way  as  to  win  favor  and  conceal  the 
blackness  of  his  heart.  And  this  made  him  a  dangerous 
character;  for  without  this  mask,  he  was  too  plainly 
marked  as  a  villain  to  deceive  even  a  novice  in  human 
nature ;  whereas,  with  it,  the  most  experienced  were  some- 
times made  his  dupes.  lie  had  round  shoulders,  bow-legs 
and  very  long  arms,  terminating  in  bony  hands  and  fingers. 
His  age  was  thirty,  though  it  might  have  been  forty,  for 
any  thing  by  which  one  could  safely  judge  otherwise.  He 
was  rather  richly  dressed  in  a  suit  of  black,  and  wore  a 
gold  chain  and  a  diamond  breast-pin — all  of  which  served 
much  to  relieve  his  person  of  sheer  ugliness — especially 
with  those  (and  these  comprise  the  greater  portion  of  man- 
kind) who  look  more  to  outward  display  than  the  inner 
man. 

"Ah,  you're  here!"  said  the  plotting  man  at  length, 
turning  his  eyes  upon  the  other.  "  Advance  ! "  and  he 
pointed  to  a  seat  beside  the  table.  "  So  !  what  news  ?" 

"Nothing  particularly  valuable,"  replied  Wesley,  as  he 
quietly  seated  himself  and  placed  his  bag  on  the  table. 

"Any  thing  of  Wall  street?" 

"Nothing — no." 

"  Strange  ?"  mused  Atherton,  glancing  at  the  fire  ;  "  I 
expected  something  before  this." 
7* 


THE   FORGED   WILL. 

"  I  did,"  responded  the  other. 

"  Have  you  seen  him  since  ?" 

"Not  since,"  replied  Wesley,  who,  if  it  were  possible, 
always  answered  a  question  by  repeating  the  closing  por- 
tion of  it. 

"And  why,  Wesley?" 

"  Couldn't  find  him." 

"  Ha !  has  he  gone  ?" 

"  Gone." 

"  The  old  bird,  too,  Wesley  ?" 

"  The  old  bird,  too.  She's  flown  upward,  the  rest  else- 
where." 

"I  do  not  understand  you." 

"  She's  dead,  then,  and  the  others  have  left." 

"  Dead,  Wesley  ?"  and  the  rich  man  gave  a  start  of  sur- 
prise. "Dead,  say  you?" 

"Dead." 

"And  the  others  have  removed?" 

"  Removed." 

"  And  you  don't  know  where  ?" 

"Don't  exactly." 

"Out  of  the  city?" 

"Think  not." 

"  Well,  you  must  hunt  him  out.  If  in  the  city,  mark 
me !  you  must  find  him.  In  case  the  first  trap  don't  catch 
him,  we  must  construct  another,  and  put  on  a  different 
bait.  You  understand,  Wesley  ?" 

"  Understand." 

"  He  is  dangerous,  I  fear,  for  he  threw  out  some  very 
unpleasant  hints.  In  short,  he  either  knows  or  suspects 
too  much,  and  must  be  silenced.  Must,  Wesley,"  repeated 
Atherton,  with  emphasis — "  mark  you  that !" 

"Exactly  that." 


THE   HYPOCRITE   AND   HIS   TOOL.  83 

"  And  now  to  other  matters,  Did  you  succeed  in  pur- 
chasing the  Middleton  property?" 

"  Succeeded,"  grinned  Wesley. 

"Good!"  returned  Atherton,  smiling  and  rubbing  his 
hands.  "And,  Wesley,  did  the  ruse  take,  eh  ?" 

"Took,"  nodded  Wesley. 

"  Good  again — good  again  !"  exclaimed  the  rich  man,  in 
an  ecstacy  of  delight  rarely  by  him  displayed.  "Revenge 
and  ten  thousand  dollars  at  one  stroke  is  rather  a  good  hit 
—eh !  Wesley  ?" 

In  his  happiest  moods,  Atherton  sometimes,  as  now, 
threw  off  his  usually  dignified  reserve,  and  allowed  himself 
to  be  rather  familiar  with  his  attorney,  counsellor,  agent 
and  private  secretary,  all  of  which  offices  Wesley  filled. 

"  Good  hit,"  grinned  Wesley  again. 

"  The  old  man,"  continued  Atherton,  with  a  sardonic 
smile  of  deep  import,  "  old  Middleton,  little  dreamed  of 
the  consequence  of  his  attempt  to  crush  me — to  ruin  my 
reputation,  the  villain  !  Ah  I  had  him.  I  cried  him  down 
by  my  agents,  bought  his  paper  at  a  discount,  and  then, 
best  of  all,  bought  his  property  at  a  sacrifice,  by  making  his 
title  appear  doubtful,  and  paid  him  in  his  own  notes  at 
par.  Well  done,  Oliver  Atherton— well  done!!'  This  was 
spoken  in  a  low  tone,  and  evidently  not  intended  for  the 
ears  of  the  attorney ;  but  the  latter  was  sharp  of  hearing, 
and  he  heard  it,  though  not  a  single  look  of  his  betrayed 
the  fact.  "  What  next,  Wesley  ?"  queried  the  millionaire. 

"AVidow  Malone  can't  pay  rent." 

"  Into  the  street  with  her  then — you  know  my  invaria- 
ble rule  in  all  cases  of  this  kind." 

"I  did  it." 

"  Right !     Did  she  go  quietly  ?" 

"  She  called  you  a  villain — cursed  you." 

"  Humph !  that  little  troubles  me,  you  know." 


84  THE   FORGED   WILL. 

"I  know,"  grinned  the  attorney. 

"What  next?" 

"  Old  Shuffler's  sick  and  all  his  family — wont  be  able  to 
pay  rent,  I  reckon." 

"  Into  the  street  with  him  then.     Well  ?" 

"Mrs.  Brady,  whose  husband  was  killed  by  a  kick  of 
your  horse,  begs  you  will  allow  her  a  small  sum  to  keep 
her  family  from  starvation." 

"  Tell  Mrs.  Brady  to  be " 

"  But  she's  noticed,"  interrupted  the  politic  counsellor. 
"  Mrs  Malcolm  has  already  sent  to  her." 

"Ah,  indeed!  that  alters  the  case,"  said  Atherton,  with 
interest.  * '  It  will  '.be  known  then :  I  must  be  liberal. 
Give  her  fifty  dollars,  Wesley.  Any  thing  further  ?" 

"The  New  England  Benevolent  Tract  Society  wants 
your  signature." 

"  Curse  these  societies — these  blood-suckers  of  the  weal- 
thy !"  ejaculated  Atherton,  shutting  his  teeth  hard  in 
anger.  "But  there's  no  avoiding  them,  and  maintaining 
one's  position,"  pursued  the  worldly  man;  "and  so,  as  the 
old  adage  has  it,  'what  can't  be  cured  must  be  endured.' 
Is  this  society  popular,  Wesley?" 

"  Popular,"  responded  the  secretary. 

"Give  five  hundred  dollars  then.  Proceed! — what 
next?" 

"  Done,"  said  the  other. 

"Ah,  done,  eh!"  Then  musing  a  few  moments,  and 
glancing  keenly  about  the  apartment,  meanwhile,  to  be 
sure  there  were  no  listeners,  Atherton,  in  a  low  tone,  re- 
sumed :  "  Do  you  think  he  can  have  got  any  clue  to  the 
truth,  other  than  a  vague  suspicion,  Wesley?" 

"  Hard  telling,"  answered  the  attorney. 

"  You  know  there  was  but  one  besides  you  and  I ;  and 
he,  the  prying  fool,  was  drowned,  was  he  not  ?" 


THE   HYPOCRITE   AND   HIS   TOOL.  85 

"  Was  drowned,"  quoth  the  attorney,  with  a  slight  shudder. 
'  Well,  he  is  dangerous,  and  we  must  be  rid  of  him,  my 
friend ;"  and  the  calm,  cold,  blue  eye  of  the  scheming 
man  fastened  upon  his  subordinate  with  an  expression  of 
deep,  dark  import.  "  I  hope  my  first  plan  will  succeed — 
if  not " 

Here  he  paused,  and  glanced  at  the  other  significantly, 
who  at  once  exclaimed : 

"No,  no — no  more  blood  !" 

"  He  must  be  silenced,  though  !"  pursued  Atherton,  in 
a  low,  deep,  sepulchral  tone,  bending  over  the  table,  till 
his  face  almost  touched  his  agent's :  "  you  know  that  as 
well  as  I.  Should  he  get  the  upper  hand,  we  are  lost — or 
rather  you  are — for  I  will  make  my  money  save  me, 
though  at  the  expense  of  my  reputation." 

As  he  said  this,  looking  full  in  the  eye  of  his  dupe  or 
tool,  there  was  a  glance — sudden  and  of  lightning  duration 
— a  glance  from  the  latter,  which  made  him  recoil  as  if 
bitten  by  a  serpent.  He  looked  again,  but  it  was  gone, 
and  he  was  fain  to  believe  his  eyes  had  deceived  him. 

"  Think  of  it,"  added  Atherton,  after  vainly  waiting 
for  the  other  to  make  some  reply ;  "  think  of  it,  and  act 
accordingly.  The  inside  of  a  prison  is  a  dreary  place ;" 
and  he  waved  his  hand,  as  was  customary  with  him,  when 
he  wished  to  be  left  alone. 

The  attorney  arose  and  withdrew  without  a  word.  As 
he  descended  the  stairs,  however,  there  was  a  terrible,  sin- 
ister look  on  his  ugly  visage,  and  he  muttered  : 

"  He  will  make  his  money  save  him !  0,  ho,  he  will 
make  his  money  save  him,  and  I  am  to  be  the  victim  ! 
Thank  you,  Oliver  Atherton,  for  your  candor  !  We  shall 
see — we  shall  see;"  and  muttering  thus,  he  quitted  the 
mansion  indignantly. 

Better  for  the  man  of  the  world  that  that  morning's  con- 


THE   FORGED   \\'ILL. 


ference  had  not  been,  or  that  he  had  been  more  like  himself, 
less  candid,  further  seeing,  more  cautious. 

For  a  few  minutes  after  the  departure  of  Wesley,  the 
hypocrite  riveted  his  gaze  upon  the  fire,  with  a  stern, 
gloomy  expression ;  then  his  reverie  was  broken  by  a  soft, 
white  hand  being  laid  upon  his  shoulder.  He  looked  up 
with  a  start,  and  his  countenance  betrayed  the  presence  of 
guilty  thoughts ;  but  on  perceiving  it  was  only  his  daughter 
who  stood  beside  him,  he  quickly  recovered  his  composure, 
and  pointing  her  to  a  seat,  observed: 

"  I  had  forgotten  I  had  sent  for  you." 

"Neither  you  did,  father:  I  stole  in  upon  my  own 
accord." 

With  a  motion  quick  as  lightning,  Atherton  seized  her 
by  the  arm,  and  eagerly  peering  into  her  face,  while  he 
held  his  breath,  said: 

"You  have  not  been  listening,  Arabella?" 

"Would  I  do  so  base  a  thing,  father?"  interrogatively 
answered  the  other,  her  color  heightened  with  proud  indig- 
nation. 

"  True — true — yes — ha,  ha — of  course — certainly  not," 
stammered  Atherton,  in  some  confusion,  aware  his  sus- 
picion had  betrayed  his  guilt.  I — I  was  thinking — ha,  ha 

— in  fact  I  hardly  know  what  I  was  thinking — but 

Well,  now  you  are  here  I  would  like  to  have  some  conver- 
sation. You  came  opportunely,  as  I  was  about  sending  for 
you.  Ton  the  word  of  a  father,"  he  added,  gazing  proudly 
upon  her,  "  you  look  charming  to-day,  Arabella :  beautiful, 
if  I  may  be  so  complimentary." 

And  beautiful  Arabella  Atherton  ever  looked  in  the  eyes 
of  that  hollow-hearted,  fashionable  world,  who  prefer  the 
cold  beauty  that  dazzles  and  towers  aloft  like  a  mountain  of 
ice,  to  that  softer  and  more  effeminate  loveliness,  which, 
like  a  sylvan  landscape  full  of  flowers,  steals  gently  upon 


THE    HYPOCRITE    AND   HIS   TOOL.  87 

the  senses,  and  awakes  all  the  finer  emotion  of  the  soul. 
In  the  bloom  of  nineteen  summers,  Arabella  was  a  belle ; 
and  being  a  supposed  heiress  to  great  wealth,  had  more 
suitors  to  her  hand  than  heart.  In  sooth,  she  was  illy  fit- 
ted to  win  by  the  latter ;  for  hers  was  a  proud,  imperious 
nature,  little  calculated  to  love,  herself,  or  inspire  others 
with  the  tender  passion.  And  yet  both  might  come  to  pasa ; 
she  might  love,  and  be  in  turn  beloved ;  but  in  her  present 
position,  and  with  her  worldly  education,  the  possibility 
was  much  greater  than  the  probability.  In  stature  she  was 
medium,  and  possessed  a  form  almost  a  model  of  perfection. 
A  splendid  bust,  above  which  were  a  neck  and  head  of  a 
carriage  the  most  lofty,  gave  her  a  commanding  appearance, 
that,  no  matter  what  her  position  in  society,  would  not 
allow  of  her  passing  through  the  world  unnoticed.  Her 
features  were  regular,  but  not  particularly  fine,  unless  seen 
by  artificial  light,  at  a  shert  distance,  when  they  appeared 
beautiful.  Her  forehead  was  high  and  smooth,  bearing 
upon  it  the  stamp  of  pride — pride  as  of  a  conscious  superi- 
ority even  over  her  equals.  And  this  same  pride  was  in 
her  dark,  lustrous  eye,  in  her  slightly  expanded  nostrils,  and 
around  her  well  formed  mouth.  It  was  a  pride  not  only  of 
birth,  beauty,  position,  and  wealth,  but  of  nature ;  pride 
that  plainly  showed  she  knew  her  value,  and  would  by  no 
means  allow  herself  to  be  underrated.  Had  she  been  born 
a  beggar,  she  would  still  have  shown  pride,  and  felt  herself 
the  superior  of  her  companions.  And  this  pride,  so  dis- 
played, was  her  ruling  or  strongest  passion ;  and  though, 
when  she  chose,  she  could  be  extremely  affable  and  winning, 
still  pride  was  ever  lurking  near,  and  made  her  affability 
dignified,  her  reserve  most  haughty. 

On  the  present  occasion,  she  was  richly  dressed  in  a  lilac 
Bilk,  fashioned  so  as  to  display  the  outlines  of  her  heaving 
bosom,  which,  even  in  its  rise  and  fall  spoke  pride.  Her 


88  THE   FORGED   WILL. 

•well-rounded,  velvet-like  arms  were  bare,  save  where  encir- 
cled by  golden  bracelets  just  above  her  snowy  hands.  To 
mark  her,  as  she  turned  her  eyes  inquiringly  upon  her 
father,  one  could  not  but  admit  she  was  handsome.  In  fact 
she  was  more  so  now  than  usual ;  and  this  it  was  which  had 
drawn  from  him  the  compliment  already  quoted,  and  to  which 
she  responded  with : 

"  Thank  you !  I  must  indeed  look  well  to  win  the  appro- 
bation of  one  so  fastidious." 

"And,  by-the-by,"  returned  the  other,  "  this  same  beauty 
must  bring  its  full  value." 

"  What  do  you  mean,  father  ?"  she  asked  with  flashing 
eyes.  "  Am  I  tp  be  bought  and  sold  like  a  slave  or  dumb 
beast?" 

"  By  no  means,  my  daughter,  to  be  bought  and  sold.  I 
would  only  imply  that  your  wealth  and  beauty  must  not  be 
thrown  away  upon  one  inferior  to  yourself  in  any  respect." 

"Never  fear,  my  dear  father,"  rejoined  Arabella,  with 
sarcasm  and  a  haughty  toss  of  her  head,  "  that  I  shall 
stoop  to  disgrace  myself  or  you.  There  is  as  much  family 
pride  in  my  breast  as  in  your  own.  It  is  not  every  suitor, 
I  beg  to  assure  you,  that  will  gain  even  a  promise  of  my 
hand.* 

"But  at  the  same  time,  Arabella,"  pursued  the  politic 
father,  "  you  must  not  be  too  haughty  when  the  right  suitor 
is  before  you,  or  you  may  mar  all." 

"And  who,  I  pray,  is  the  right  suitor?"  she  asked 
sharply. 

"Who  should  he  be,  but  the  rich  and  accomplished 
Clarence  Malcolm  ?" 

"Umph!"  rejoined  the  other,  with  a  proud  curl  of  the 
lip  ;  "  and  am  I  then  to  do  him  reverence  ?" 

"  By  no  means ;  there  are  a  thousand  ways  to  win,  without 
in  the  least  sacrificing  your  dignity.  Of  a  truth,  a  certain 


THE   HYPOCRITE   AND   HIS   TOOL.  89 

reserve  is  necessary  to  inspire  a  man  with  proper  respect 
and  esteem — for  every  thing  is  prized  according  to  the 
labor  and  expense  required  in  obtaining  it — and  to  nothing 
does  this  more  strictly  apply  than  to  woman ;  but  what  I 
fear  is,  that  you  may  so  far  forget  your  true  policy,  as  to 
treat  him  as  you  have  done  many  a  one  before  him,  with  a 
haughtiness  so  disdainful  that  his  own  manly  pride  will 
force  him  to  leave  you." 

"  I  shall  treat  him,"  rejoined  Arabella,  "  according  to  his 
deserts  and  behaviour.  If  he  presume  too  much,  he  shall 
find  I  have  not  forgotten  what  is  due  to  myself." 

"  But  let  me  charge  you,  Arabella,  to  be  very  cautious, 
for  he  is  certainly  a  prize  worth  securing.  I  have  it  from 
his  own  lawyer,  that  he  has  already  been  apportioned  five 
hundred  thousand  dollars,  and  will  in  time  fall  heir  to  as 
much  more.  He  is  an  only  son  of  a  widowed  mother,  and 
her  possessions  are  vast;  so  you  see  the  importance  of 
making  him  yours  ;  and  you  will  do  it,  I  trust,  even  at  the 
sacrifice,  if  necessary,  of  a  little  self-pride." 

"  I  do  not  know  that  I  shall,"  returned  Arabella,  coldly, 
"  I  do  not  think  I  shall  cross  my  nature  for  any  man,  rich  or 
poor,  high  or  low.  Besides,  I  am  not  anxious  to  tie  myself 
in  wedlock,  at  least  for  the  present.  There  is  time  enough 
for  that  years  ahead." 

"  But  think,  my  dear  Arabella,"  pleaded  the  worldly 
man,  "  what  it  is  to  be  the  wife  of  one  so  immensely  rich, 
and  so  universally  esteemed  as  Clarence  Malcolm.  If  you 
have  true  pride,  my  daughter,  this  is  the  way  to  gratify  it ; 
for  you  will  thus  not  only  triumph  over  all  your  associates, 
but  place  yourself  in  a  position  where  you  can  over-awe 
them  with  your  grandeur  and  magnificience.  Think  what 
it  is,  my  child,  to  be  the  richest  lady  in  the  metropolis,  and 
leader  of  the  ton!  Why,  were  I  you,  I  would  stoop  to 
any  thing  to  be  so  exalted." 


90  THE   FORGED  WILL. 

"  Would  you  ?"  said  Arabella,  with  another  scornful  curl 
of  the  lip ;  "  I  wouldn't — there  is  the  difference.  I  would 
not  condescend  to  lose  one  grain  of  self-respect,  such  as 
you  advise,  to  win  Clarence  Malcolm,  were  he  even  ten 
times  what  you  represent  him.  No,  did  I  do  so,  I  could 
never  after  forgive  myself." 

"But,  my  daughter " 

"  Nay,  hear  me  out.  That  Clarence  Malcolm  is  rich,  I 
believe :  that  he  is  a  gentleman  of  fine  talents  and  accom- 
plishments, I  know ;  and,  to  be  candid,  I  like  him  as  well 
as  any  other ;  and  have  reason  to  believe,  from  his  atten- 
tions to  me  of  late,  that  I  have  found  favour  in  his  eyes. 
Further  than  this,  I  know  nothing;  for  not  a  word  of 
affection,  or  any  thing  tending  towards  matrimony,  has 
ever  passed  our  lips  to  one  another.  Now  should  Clarence 
Malcolm  see  proper  to  sue  for  my  hand  in  a  correct  way, 
taking  me  all  in  all,  as  I  am,  with  all  my  imperfections  on 
my  head,  I  might  be  disposed  to  grant  his  suit — not  for 
his  money,  mark  you,  father — not  for  his  fine  accomplish- 
ments— but  simply  because  the  whim  might  be  upon  me." 

"  Well,  well,  Arabella,  you  are  a  strange,  spoiled  child, 
and  so  I  suppose  you  must  have  your  own  way,  though  I 
trust  you  will  not  disappoint  me  in  this  matter." 

"  But  why  are  you  so  anxious,  father  ?  Have  you  not 
wealth  enough?" 

"  Enough,  Arabella !  why,  you  talk  like  a  simple  girl. 
Enough  !  bless  your  soul — why,  were  I  as  rich  as  Croesus, 
I  should  still  thirst  for  more.  Enough !  no  I  shall  never 
have  enough,  though  every  addition  will  be  something 
towards  a  satisfaction.  My  whole  soul,  Arabella,  is  con- 
centrated upon  the  ambition  of  being  the  wealthiest  gen- 
tleman in  the  metropolis,  that  men  may  point  at  me  and 
.say,  'There  goes  he  who  can  buy  and  sell  all  others.'  So 
be  a  true  child  of  mine,  Arabella,  and  aid  me  to  accom- 


THE   HYPOCRITE   AND   HIS   TOOL  91 

plish  what  I  have  struggled  for  years.  With  your  consent, 
and  our  cards  skilfully  handled,  we  are  sure  to  win.  Mal- 
colm is  in  every  sense  a  strict  man  of  honor,  and  would 
rather  sacrifice  his  right  hand  than  do  a  mean  action,  or 
be  thought  guilty  of  one.  His  attentions  to  you  have 
already  been  somewhat  marked ;  endeavor  to  make  them 
still  more  so,  and  we  are  safe.  I  will  have  the  report  cir- 
culated that  you  are  engaged ;  and  then,  should  he  seek  to 
avoid  you,  I  will  privately  threaten  him  with  a  suit  for 
breach  of  promise.  This  will  settle  the  matter ;  for  he 
would  suffer  death  sooner  than  have  his  fair  name  dragged 
thus  before  the  world  and  bandied  in  the  public  prints." 

"But  father,"  said  Arabella,  with  a  look  of  painful  dis- 
pleasure, "  what  respect  could  he  have  for  a  wife  so  ob- 
tained?" 

"  Respect  ?  Pshaw  !  girl,  don't  be  a  fool !  Who  cares 
for  his  respect,  so  we  have  his  money  !" 

"But  how  would  his  money  benefit  you?" 

"  Ah,  leave  that  to  me — leave  that  to  me !"  answered 
Atherton,  rubbing  his  hands  with  delight  at  the  happy 
prospect  of  effecting  some  well  concocted,  devilish  scheme, 
which  he  did  not  care  to  reveal  to  his  daughter.  "  Come, 
girl,  promise  me  you  will  use  your  best  endeavors  to  suc- 
ceed in  this !" 

"  I  will  think  of  it,"  said  the  other,  coldly,  rising  to 
withdraw.  s 

"  You  will  promise,  Arabella !"  urged  her  father.  "  Come, 
say  you  will  promise  !" 

"  I  say  I  will  think  of  it,"  sharply  and  haughtily  re- 
joined Arabella.  And  then  turning,  as  she  was  about  to 
quit  the  apartment :  "  Who  was  that  young  man  I  saw 
here  the  other  evening?"  she  asked.  "His  face  seemed 
familiar,  but  I  do  not  know  where  to  place  him." 

"  Mention  him  not !"  replied    Atherton,  with  a  dark 


92  THE   FORGED  WILL. 

frown ;  "  mention  him  not,  Arabella ;  he  is  a  villain  who 
has  much  annoyed  me  of  late;"  and  he  bit  his  lips  in 
vexation. 

"  Then  his  face  belies  him  ;"  rejoined  Arabella,  looking 
hard  at  her  father ;  "  for  I  have  rarely  seen  a  more  hand- 
some, frank,  ingenuous  countenance;"  and  without  waiting 
a  reply  from  her  angry  parent,  she  quitted  the  apartment, 
with  the  proud  majesty  of  a  queen,  leaving  the  schemer 
alone  to  his  thoughts. 

"  So,  so,"  he  muttered,  "her. pride  overtops  her  judg- 
ment, and  therefore  must  have  a  fall.  She  must  wed 
Clarence  Malcolm,  though,  for  I  have  set  my  soul  upon  it, 
and  when  was  I  ever  known  to  fail  in  my  undertakings !" 

Beware,  Oliver  Atherton !  for  you  are  reckoning  without 
your  host. 


CHAPTER  VIIL 

• 

NEW  AND  STRANGE  ADVENTURES. 

WHATEVER  the  mass  of  mankind,  who  have  had  no  expe- 
rience, may  think  to  the  contrary,  the  life  of  him  who 
gains  his  bread  by  the  labor  of  his  brain,  is  by  no  means 
an  easy  one.  To  many  who  know  not  its  trials,  struggles 
and  vexations,  it  may  seem  very  romantic,  pleasant  and 
delightful ;  but  it  is  like  a  mountain  seen  from  afar,  which 
appears  smooth  and  beautiful  in  the  distance,  but  which  a 
near  inspection  proves  to  be  craggy,  rough,  and  both 
laborious  and  dangerous  of  ascent.  It  is  one  thing  to  read 
and  another  to  write.  In  the  former  instance  all  is  plain 
and  smooth  before  you,  word  follows  word,  sentence  fol- 
lows sentence,  idea  succeeds  idea,  and,  without  any  effort 
on  your  part,  your  eye  skims  the  page  and  your  mind 
grasps  the  sense,  and  you  say  to  yourself,  "  Where  is  the 
effort  of  the  author  in  what  is  so  simple  and  easy?"  Ah, 
you  little  dream  what  the  same  sentence  may  have  cost 
him,  simple  as  it  seems  !  Perhaps  hours  of  severe  applica- 
tion and  brain-racking  thought.  It  is  not  always  the 
smoothest  and  simplest  passages  that  have  been  easiest 
penned.  On  the  contrary,  it  is  these  which  may  have  cost 
the  severest  toil — for  an  instrument  only  becomes  resplen- 
dent through  intense  attrition,  so  the  ideas  of  an  author 
can  only  come  forth  refulgent  and  polished  by  the  same 
skill,  care  and  attention. 

You  that  think  the  life  of  an  author  to  be  envied,  sit 
down,  when  you  have  leisure  and  feel  in  fine  humor,  and 
8*  (93) 


94  THE  FORGED  WILL. 

attempt  to  compose.  And  then,  when  depressed  in  spirits, 
oppressed  with  grief,  care  and  anxiety,  ailing  in  body,  and 
your  brain  seems  clogged  and  heavy,  or,  on  the  contrary, 
parched  with  a  burning  fever,  sit  down  and  try  it  then. 
Remember  your  task  is  before  you,  that  you  must  go  on, 
for  on  this  hangs  the  power  to  provide  for  yourself,  and, 
peradventure,  those  as  near  and  dear  to  you  as  your  own 
heart's  blood.  And  remember,  too,  you  must  not  slight 
your  task,  or  that  great  tribunal,  the  public,  before  which 
you  must  be  judged,  will  not  fail  to  censure  and  thus 
destroy  your  occupation.  Remember,  furthermore,  you 
are  continually  called  upon  for  new  scenes,  new  ideas  and 
new  events,  which  your  already  aching  and  overtaxed 
brain  must  supply.  And  lastly,  remember  this  is  not  a 
day,  nor  a  week,  nor  a  month,  but  for  years,  perhaps  a 
lifetime.  Make  this  trial,  we  say,  take  into  consideration 
all  these  facts,  together  with  the  pittance  you  will  receive, 
even  if  unfortunate  enough  to  dispose  of  your  labor,  and 
then,  if  you  envy  an  author's  fate  go  follow  his  profession, 
and  make  an  early  grave  for  yourself,  and  a  name  that 
will  live  perchance  till  your  body  has  turned  to  corruption 
and  dust. 

Similar  to  these  were  the  reflections  of  Edgar  Courtly, 
'  as,  pen  in  hand,  and  weary  with  thought,  he  paused  over 
the  task  he  had  undertaken.  We  have  said  elsewhere,  that 
in  his  leisure  hours  he  had  written  poetry — but  that  had 
been  done  simply  through  inclination  and  for  his  own 
amusement,  and  was  very  different  from  his  present  attempt, 
where,  with  nothing  to  inspire  him  save  the  hope  of  reward, 
on  which  his  very  life  as  it  seemed  to  him  depended,  he 
toiled  on,  straining  each  mental  faculty  to  its  utmost 
tension. 

"And  even  when  completed,"  he  sighed,  "I  may  fail, 
and  all  my  anxiety  and  brain-torture  go  for  naught." 


NEW   AND   STRANGE    ADVENTURES.  95 

But  he  determined  to  fail  not  through  indolence  or 
carelessness ;  and  hence  he  wrote  and  read,  revised  and  re- 
wrote, until  there  seemed  no  possibility  of  his  improving 
what  he  had  done  ;  and  gladly  then,  yet  not  without  mis- 
givings, he  pronounced  the  poem  complete.  This  occurred 
at  a  rather  late  hour  on  the  third  night  from  his  meeting 
with  Elmer ;  and  having  read  it  aloud  to  Virginia,  and  re- 
ceived her  joyful  approval,  he  retired  for  the  night — but 
not  to  sleep  soundly — for  hope  and  fear  were  too  busy  in 
his  breast  to  allow  him  more  than  a  feverish,  fitful  slumber. 
At  dawn  he  was  up  and  dressed,  and  without  partaking  of 
breakfast,  so  anxious  was  he  to  have  the  article  put  in  hand 
as  early  as  possible,  he  set  out  for  the  lodgings  of  Elmer. 
Elmer  slept  late,  and  so  of  course  an  interview  at  that  hour 
was  out  of  the  question ;  but  he  left  the  parcel,  properly 
superscribed,  in  the  hands  of  a  servant,  with  imperative 
instructions,  that,  so  soon  as  Elmer  should  rise,  it  must  be 
given  to  him  as  a  matter  of  great  importance.  Pondering 
upon  what  would  be  his  success  against  so  much  compe- 
tition, he  turned  away,  and,  in  a  musing  mood,  strolled 
down  the  street  in  the  direction  of  the  Battery. 

It  was  a  clear,  cold,  but  beautiful  and  invigorating 
morning ;  and  the  sun,  as  he  rose,  wore  a  cheerful  aspect, 
and  brightly  gleamed  down  upon  tall  spires,  making  their" 
bright  balls  seem  fire;  and  upon  the  houses  and  trees, 
turning  their  net  work  of  frost  into  diamond  dew  drops ; 
and  upon  the  harbor  and  rivers,  forming  their  waters  into 
polished  mirrors ;  and  upon  the  rushing  steamers,  arching 
rainbows  in  the  spray  of  their  wheels ;  and  upon  the  oars 
of  the  boatmen,  making  every  stroke  dip  silver ;  and  upon 
the  sails  of  the  stately  ships,  giving  them  a  light  and  swan- 
like  appearance ;  and,  in  a  word,  upon  every  thing  abroad, 
animate  and  inanimate  ;  brightening,  enriching  and  beauti- 
fying all. 


96  THE   FORGED  WILL. 

As  Edgar  arrived  at  the  Battery,  and  took  in  all  this  at 
a  glance,  he  felt  his  spirits  revive  with  a  feeling  akin  to  the 
scene :  and  for  an  hour  he  forgot  his  sorrows  *.n  a  happy 
reverie.  Then,  remembering  he  had  not  yet  hroken  his 
fast,  and  that  his  sister,  having  prepared  the  frugal  meal, 
would  be  patiently  awaiting  him,  he  set  out  upon  his 
return;  but  instead  of  retracing  his  steps,  shaped  his 
course  along  the  shipping  of  the  East  river.  Pushing  for- 
ward, little  heeding  any  thing  around  him,  his  mind  occu- 
pied with  grave  reflections,  he  had  passed  some  half  a 
dozen  squares,  when  his  progress  was  arrested  by  a  groan 
from  a  man  lying  on  the  pavement  just  to  his  right.  His 
first  impression,  on  coming  to  a  halt,  was  that  the  man  was 
drunk ;  and  he  was  about  to  pass  on,  when  something  in 
the  appearance  of  the  stranger  led  him  to  think  otherwise ; 
and  he  approached  and  accosted  him  in  a  kindly  tone. 

"What  is  the  matter,  my  friend?"  he  asked. 

"  God  bless  you,"  returned  the  other,  in  a  feeble  voice, 
"  for  those  kind  words— the  first  I  have  had  addressed  to  me 
for  many  a  day  1  I  am  sick,  kind  sir,  and,  I  fear,  nigh 
unto  death.  I  lately  arrived  in  port  from  a  long  voyage, 
and  was  immediately  taken  ill  with  fever.  I  sought  lod- 
gings in  yonder  house,  (pointing  to  a  villainous-looking 
groggery)  for  I  had  not  much  money,  and  did  not  know 
where  to  go.  While  my  money  lasted,  I  received  some 
attention ;  but  it  gave  out  last  night ;  and  ere  daylight  this 
morning,  I  was  rudely  thrust  into  the  street,  with  the  cold- 
hearted  remark,  that,  being  now  a  beggar,  I  must  seek 
other  quarters.  I  tried  to  get  elsewhere,  kind  sir,  my 
strength  failed  me,  and  here  I  am.  0  God!"  he  added, 
in  a  sort  of  prayer,  "  if  my  time  has  come  to  die,  take  me 
to  thyself ! — but  I  would,  merciful  God,  that  thou  sparest 
me  longer,  that,  if  possible,  I  may  bring  the  guilty  to 


NEW   AND   STRANGE   ADVENTURES.  97 

account,  and  right  the  wronged! — but  do,  0  God,  as  to 
thee  seemest  best !' 

"  Poor  fellow  !"  sighed  Edgar,  struck  with  the  stranger's 
manner,  and  the  mysteriousness  of  his  last  words ;  "  here 
is  another  example  of  the  world's  humanity.  Who  are' 
you,  friend?"  he  asked;  "for  though  dressed  in  the  garb 
of  a  common  sailor,  your  language  bespeaks  one  bred  in  a 
different  school." 

"  I  am  not  what  I  seem,"  rejoined  the  other,  in  a  still  more 
feeble  voice,  and  evidently  in  much  pain;  "  but  I  can  explain 
nothing  now.  If  you  can  assist  me,  kind  sir,  do  so — if  not, 
leave  me  alone  to  die.  Ah,  me  !  God's  mercy  on  me !" 

"Alas!  stranger,"  rejoined  Edgar,  "it  is  little  assist- 
ance I  can  render  to  any  one ;  but  what  I  can  do  I  will ; 
you  must  not  be  left  al»ne  to  die.  Have  patience  a 
moment ;  I  will  see  what  can  be  done ;"  and  seeing  a  well- 
dressed  gentleman  at  a  short  distance,  he  hurried  to  him,  ' 
explained  the  case,  and  asked  his  advice. 

"  He  had  better  be  sent  to  the  hospital,"  was  the  reply. 

"  But  will  they  receive  him  ?"  queried  Edgar. 

"If  a  sailor,  they  are  bound  to  do  so;"  and  he  gave 
Edgar  instructions  how  to  proceed  to  gain  him  admittance. 

Acting  upon  the  other's  advice,  Edgar  procured  an 
elliptic-spring  dray,  a  vehicle  much  in  use  in  the  great 
metropolis,  and  placing  the  stranger  upon  it,  accompanied 
and  saw  him  safely  deposited  in  the  hospital,  where  he 
would  receive  the  best  of  care  and  medical  attendance. 

"And  now,"  he  said,  as  he  was  about  to  take  his  leave, 
"  I  shall  make  it  my  business  to  call  upon  you  daily.  For 
whom  shall  I  inquire  ?" 

"  Alanson  Davis,"  answered  the  invalid,  feebly  pressing 
the  hand  of  Edgar.  "  And  now  yours,  my  kind  benefactor, 
whom  may  God  reward  for  your  humanity  !" 

"Edgar  Courtly,"  replied  our  hero. 


THE   FORGED   WILL. 


The  invalid  started,  clasped  his  forehead  with  one  hand, 
and,  weak  though  he  was,  partly  raised  himself  with  the 
other,  while  his  eyes  fastened  upon  Edgar  with  a  wild, 
eager  expression. 

"  Perhaps  I  was  mistaken,"  he  said,  in  a  hoarse  whisper. 
"  Repeat  your  name  once  more  !" 

Edgar  did  so. 

"And  your  native  place  !" 

"Baltimore,"  said  Edgar. 

"  You — you  have — an  uncle  !"  almost  gasped  the  other. 

Edgar  set  his  teeth  hard,  and  frowned  darkly,  as  he 
replied : 

"My  mother,  God  rest  her  soul!  had  an  unnatural 
brother." 

"  Whose  name  is "         • 

"Oliver  Atherton." 

The  sick  man  nodded  his  head  and  sunk  back,  too  much 
exhausted  to  make  an  immediate  reply.  At  length  he 
feebly  muttered : 

"  Go  !  go  ! — but  be  sure  you  return  to  me  !  God  grant  I 
live,  for  your  sake !  Heaven  be  praised  that  we  have  met ! 
I  have  much  to  tell  you — but  not  now.  Go  !  go  !"  and  so 
exhausted  was  the  invalid  with  excitement  and  the  effort 
to  speak,  that  his  last  trial  died  away  in  a  whisper. 

Edgar,  surprised  and  bewildered  at  these  mysterious 
words,  would  fain  have  lingered,  in  the  hope  of  hearing 
something  further ;  but  the  physician  touched  him  on  the 
shoulder,  and  warned  him  that  his  presence  was  endan- 
gering the  life  of  the  patient.  He  therefore  took  his 
departure,  and  bent  his  steps  homeward,  musing  upon  the 
strangeness  of  his  adventure,  and  wondering  what  secret 
the  stranger  had  to  reveal.  That  there  had  been  crime 
committed  somewhere,  he  believed ;  and  might  not  this  man 
have  been  a  tool  of  his  uncle,  and  have  aided  in  wresting 


NEW  AND  STRANGE  ADVENTURES.       99 

from  him  his  rightful  possessions  ?  He  had  spoken  of 
wrong  that  had  been  done  ere  he  knew  whom  he  addressed ; 
and  when  the  name  was  made  known  to  him,  his  agitation 
was  such  as  could  spring  from  no  ordinary  cause.  And 
the  dark  hints  he  had  himself  thrown  out  to  his  uncle  on 
the  night  his  mother  died,  and  the  singular  effect  they  pro- 
duced, all  recurred  to  the  mind  of  Edgar,  with  the  natural 
reflection,  that  where  there  was  so  much  uneasiness,  there 
must  be  some  secret  but  potent  cause ;  and  now  that  he 
was  once  upon  the  trail,  he  resolved  to  ferret  this  out,  let 
the  consequences  be  what  they  might. 

The  hospital,  of  which  mention  has  just  been  made, 
stands  on  Broadway,  but  retired  from  the  constant  jar  of 
busy  life  by  a  large  enclosure  or  park,  which  slopes  away 
in  front,  forming  a  beautiftil  lawn  and  sylvan  grove,  from 
among  the  shrubbery  of  which  the  picturesque  structure 
peeps  forth  a  rather  delightful  and  inviting  appearance, 
more  especially  in  the  summer  season,  when  the  green 
fluttering  leaves  seem  to  speak  of  pure  air  and  gentle 
refreshing  quietude.  His  homeward  course  from  this 
hospital,  led  Edgar  directly  past  the  Tombs  of  Centre  street, 
upon  which  he  now  gazed  with  a  strange,  unaccountable 
feeling  of  awe,  that  he  had  occasion  soon  after  to  remember 
as  an  evil  presentiment. 

The  Tombs — so  called  from  its  resemblance  to  the  Mauso- 
leums of  Egypt's  mighty  kings,  and,  also,  as  some  say, 
from  the  number  of  suicides  committed  by  prisoners  within 
its  damp  and  filthy  cells,  thus  making  it  a  sort  of  charnel 
house — is  a  building  well  calculated  to  arrest  the  attention 
of  a  stranger  viewing  the  curiosities  of  the  great  metro- 
polis. It  is  a  massive  structure  of  stone,  built  in  the 
Egyptian  style  of  architecture,  and  serves  the  several  pur- 
poses of  a  city  prison,  police  court,  the  court  of  sessions, 
law,  and  other  offices.  It  is  a  grand  but  gloomy  pile, 


100  THE    F0150ED   WILL. 

surmounted  by  a  cupola,  whose  summit  overlooks  a  great 
portion  of  the  city.  A  high  wall  encloses  three  sides  of  it, 
forming  an  area,  the  fourth  side  of  which  is  composed  of 
the  main  huilding,  into  which  from  the  opening,  entrance 
can  only  be  had  through  heavy  iron  doors,  kept  double- 
locked  and  bolted  to  prevent  the  escape  of  prisoners. 
This  area  answers  many  prison  purposes ;  and  among  the 
rest,  that  of  admitting  light  and  air  to  the  cells  looking 
out  upon  it,  and  as  a  place  of  private  execution  for  those 
convicted  of  capital  offences,  whose  death  in  such  cases 
is  only  witnessed  by  a  few  prisoners  and  officials.  The 
building  is  so  constructed  that  a  criminal  may  be  led  from 
his  cell  to  the  court  room,  have  his  trial,  and  be  remanded, 
without  once  beholding  the  world  without,  until  he  is  taken 
hence  to  serve  out  his  term  of  sentence,  either  at  Black- 
well's  Island  or  Sing  Sing.  In  front  you  enter  by  a  long 
flight  of  stone  steps,  and  pass  directly  under  a  fine  colon- 
nade, which,  together  with  the  quaint  appearance  of  the 
whole  building,  as  seen  at  a  short  distance,  and  the  remem- 
brance of  the  purposes  to  which  it  is  devoted,  gives  it  an 
imposing  and  solemn  aspect,  that  makes  a  deep  and  lasting 
impression  upon  the  mind  of  him,  who,  in  a  reflective  mood, 
views  it  for  the  first  time. 

While  occupied  in  gazing  upon  this  gloomy  structure, 
and  thinking  of  the  poor  wretches  therein  confined,  Edgar 
was  suddenly  startled  by  the  piercing  shrieks  of  a  female ; 
and  looking  around,  he  beheld  a  horse  coming  down  the 
street  at  the  very  top  of  his  speed,  with  a  light  vehicle 
attached,  in  which  sat  a  lady,  nearly  frightened  out  of  her 
senses,  from  whom  issued  these  frightful  sounds  of  agonized 
despair.  That  she  must  soon  be  thrown  out  and  dashed  to 
pieces,  or  terribly  mangled,  seemed  inevitable — for  the  car- 
riage rocked  from  side  to  side,  occasionally  balancing  on 
two  wheels  for  a  moment,  so  evenly  that  a  pound  seemed 


A  NEW  AND  STRANGE   ADVENTURE.  101 

sufficient  to  upset  it,  and  then,  just  as  all  hope  was  over, 
settling  back  to  its  original  position,  or  swaying  as  far  the 
other  way,  while  on  dashed  the  frightened  animal  more 
fiercely  than  ever.  Hundreds  had  tried  to  check  him  or 
change  his  course ;  but  on,  on  he  still  furiously  sped,  heed- 
ing no  obstacle,  and  turning  neither  to  the  right  nor  left. 
Thousands  had  collected  behind  the  lady,  and  were  gazing- 
after  her  in  breathless  awe,  expecting  every  moment  to  wit- 
ness a  sight  that  would  make  their  blood  run  cold  with  horror. 
In  front,  men,  women  and  children  were  rushing  to  the 
sidewalks,  to  place  their  own  persons  in  safety ;  while  others, 
from  every  direction,  were  hurrying  to  the  scene  to  gratify 
a  morbid  curiosity. 

From  the  moment  Edgar  put  eyes  upon  the  lady,  he 
determined  to  save  her,  even  at  the  risk  of  his  life — and  a 
fearful  risk  it  was,  in  the  manner  he  attempted  it.  The  horse 
was  descending  Centre  street  from  the  direction  of  the  Park ; 
and,  unless  his  course  was  changed,  must  pass  within  a  few 
feet  of  where  he  stood.  There  was  but  little  time  for  reflec- 
tion. But  Edgar  thought  rapidly,  and  his  plan  was  soon 
laid;  though,  it  must  be  confessed,  one  of  peculiar  danger  to 
himself.  Perceiving  a  club  upon  the  pavement,  he  seized 
it,  and  stepping  forward  a  few  paces,  awaited  the  approach 
of 'the  furious  beast,  well  knowing  that  should  he  fail  in 
his  design,  his  own  life  in  all  probability  would  be  the  pen- 
alty. On  came  the  maddened  beast,  rolling  fire  from  the 
flinty  pavement  beneath  his  hoofs,  and  making  each  one  he 
passed  shudder  with  an  indescribable  terror. 

Edgar  had  taken  his  position  directly  in  front  of  the 
animal ;  so  that,  unless  one  or  the  other  turned  aside,  the 
latter  must  pass  directly  over  his  body.  To  turn  aside 
neither  seemed  inclined ;  and  when  the  beast,  still  rushing 
forward  with  unabated  velocity,  had  reached  within  a  few 
feet  of  our  intrepid  hero,  there  was  a  general  cry  of  alarm 
9 


102  THE   FORGED   WILL. 


for  his  safety.  The  next  moment  the  cry  was  changed  into 
a  universal  shout  of  applause,  and  men  marvelled  at  what 
their  own  eyes  revealed  to  them.  The  horse  lay  sprawling, 
'  panting,  and  kicking  upon  the  pavement — the  vehicle,  upset 
and  broken,  was  partly  piled  upon  him — while  the  lady,  safe 
and  unharmed,  was  resting,  all  unconscious,  in  the  arms  of 
her  deliverer. 

The  manner  in  which  this  had  been  effected  was  simple, 
i  though  seemingly  a  miracle  to  those  who  beheld  it.  As  the 
foaming  horse  came  bounding  up,  Edgar  struck  him  a  violent 
blow  upon  the  head,  which  felled  him  to  the  earth ;  then 
springing  quickly  back,  he  caught  the  lady  in  his  arms,  as 
she  was  thrown  forward  by  the  sudden  stopping  of  the 
vehicle.  It  was  a  most  dangerous  feat,  but  one  he  had 
correctly  counted  on  performing,  and  he  now  stood  the 
proud  hero  of  a  thousand  admiring  eyes. 

His  first  movement  was  to  bear  the  lady  up  the  steps  of 
the  Tombs,  where,  water  being  procured  and  dashed  in  her 
face,  she  presently  revived,  only  to  stare  in  wonder  and 
maidenly  timidity  upon  the  dense  crowd  that  had  gathered 
around.  A  single  glance  at  Ber  person  and  dress,  showed 
her  to  be  young,  beautiful  and  wealthy — or  at  least  a  lady 
of  some  distinction — and  Edgar  was  perplexing  himself  how 
to  proceed  next,  when  a  middle-aged  gentleman  came  push- 
ing through  the  crowd,  which  gave  way  with  deference,  and 
catching  her  in  his  arms,  wildly  called  her  his  own  dear 
child,  and  seemed  fairly  beside  himself  with  joy  at  her 
providential  escape. 

Seeing  she  was  now  in  proper  hands,  and  that  there  was 
no  longer  need  for  his  services,  Edgar  took  advantage  of 
the  confusion,  and  quietly  and  modestly  withdrew. 

When  the  father,  having  learned  the  details  of  how  his 
daughter  had  been  saved  by  the  heroic  daring  on  the  part 
of  another  which  astonished  him,  and,  full  of  profound 


A   NEW   AND   STRANGE   ADVENTURE.  103 

gratitude,  inquired  for  her  noble  deliverer,  he  was  gone,  much 
to  his  regret  and  disappointment,  and  none  could  say  where 
he  might  be  found.  In  a  word,  while  men  were  eagerly 
seeking  him,  that  he  might  receive  a  due  reward  for  his 
noble  daring,  Edgar  was  quietly  wending  his  way  home- 
ward, satisfied  in  his  own  conscience  that  he  had  performed 
his  duty,  and  disposed  to  seek  no  other  recompense. 

The  sun  was  several  hours  advanced  towards  meridian 
when  he  reached  his  humble  lodgings ;  and  Virginia  having 
prepared  the  morning  meal,  was  awaiting  him  with  anxiety, 
full  of  a  thousand  fears  for  his  safety.  To  her  he  explain- 
ed at  once  all  that  had  happened  to  detain  him ;  and  throwing 
her  arms  around  his  neck,  she  pressed  upon  his  lips  the 
sisterly  kiss  of  approval ;  and  both  partook  of  their  frugal 
repast  with  increased  appetites  and  lightened  hearts. 


CHAPTER  IX. 

THE  ABODE   OP  THE   UNFORTUNATE. 

ALTHOUGH  impatient  to  know  the  decision  of  Elmer 
regarding  his  production,  Edgar  did  not  deem  it  proper  to 
intrude  upon  him  for  a  day  or  two,  or  until  all  his  compe- 
titors should  have  sent  in  their  efforts.  Feverish  with 
anxiety  as  concerned  his  success,  it  was  now  his  object  to 
while  away  his  time  so  as  to  think  as  little  upon  the  matter 
as  possible.  For  this  purpose  he  sallied  forth  into  the 
bustling  city,  passing  through  the  main  thoroughfares, 
along  the  quays,  and,  in  short,  visiting  every  place  which 
he  fancied  would  serve  to  .draw  his  thoughts  from  what  had 
now  become  a  painful  subject — painful,  because  he  felt  that 
in  case  of  failure,  the  hope  which  had  buoyed  up  his  sinking 
spirits  would  be  irrecoverably  sunk  in  the  dark  waters  of 
despair.  After  rambling  about  for  several  hours,  he  visit- 
ed the  hospital,  in  the  hope  to  gain  from  the  lips  of  Davis 
an  explanation  of  his  mysterious  words ;  but  in  this  he  was 
sadly  disappointed  ;•  for  the  physician  informed  him  the 
man  was  delirious,  and  in  all  probability  would  not  survive 
the  attack,  as  anxiety  and  exposure  had  increased  his 
malady  to  a  very  malignant  form ;  and  even  should  he 
recover,  all  conversation  on  worldly  topics  must  be  excluded 
for  at  least  a  couple  of  weeks.  This  was  sore  news  to 
Edgar,  as  he  had  counted  much  on  getting  some  clue  to  the 
supposed  villainy  of  his  uncle,  whereby  he  might,  if  not 
convict  him,  at  least  force  him  to  a  satisfactory  compromise, 
and  regain  enough  of  his  father's  property  to  render  him- 
(104) 


THE  ABODE  OF  THE  UNFORTUNATE.      105 

self  and  sister  independent.  It  was,  therefore,  with  a  heavy 
heart  that  he  again  shaped  his  course  homeward,  uncon- 
sciously passing  over  the  very  ground  he  had  traversed  in 
the  morning.  As  he  came  along  side  of  the  Tombs  and 
looked  up  to  the  huge  pile,  he  felt  a  cold  shudder  pass 
through  his  frame,  and  his  very  soul  recoil,  as  it  were,  with 
undefinable  fear. 

"  Strange  !"  he  mentally  ejaculated ;  "  strange,  I  should 
feel  thus,  when  looking  upon  the  walls  of  a  prison !  I  have 
never  done  a  wrong  deed,  that  I  should  have  such  terror  of 
the  criminal's  home.  Is  it — can  it  be  a  foreboding  of  further 
evil  ?  God  grant  that  my  worst  trials  are  over  ! — for  misery 
and  I  have  too  long  been  acquainted,  and  I  had  hoped  we 
should  again  be  strangers." 

Musing  thus,  he  pursued  his  way  until  he  entered  Mott 
street ;  when  an  irresistible  desire  seized  upon  him  to  visit 
Ellen,  his  generous  benefactress,  whom  neither  himself  nor 
sister  had  seen  since  changing  their  quarters,  and  also  to  look 
once  more  upon  the  wretched  abode  where  his  poor  mother 
had  ended  her  sufferings.  As  he  drew  near  the  place  and 
glanced  toward  the  miserable  hovel,  again  tenanted  with 
the  most  squalid  poverty,  his  heart  leaped  to  his  throat,  his 
eyes  grew  dim,  and  he  was  fain  to  turn  quickly  away  to 
master  his  emotion. 

The  dwelling  of  the  unfortunate  Ellen  was  nearly  oppo- 
site, and  to  this  he  bent  his  steps.  His  first  impression 
was  that  the  house  was  tenantless — for  the  door  was  not 
only  closed,  but  heavy  wooden  shutters  barred  all  the 
windows.  Although  past  midday,  there  were  no  signs  of 
life  about  the  premises ;  and  Edgar  was  on  the  point  of 
leaving,  thinking  there  was  none  within,  when  something 
altered  his  determination,  and  he  at  once  advanced  to  the 
door  and  stoutly  applied  the  knocker.  After  some  little 
delay,  Edgar  heard  the  rattling  of  bars  and  the  clanking 
9* 


106  THE   FORGED   WILL. 

of  chains ;  and  then  the  door  swung  ajar  a  few  inches,  but 
not  sufficiently  to  admit  the  entrance  or  exit  of  even  a 
child,  and  a  hoarse  cracked  female  voice  said : 

"  Who  are  you  ?  and  what's  wanting  ?" 

"  Is  Ellen  Douglas  within?"  asked  Edgar  in  reply. 

"  Well,  'sposen  she  is  ?"  was  the  inhospitable  rejoinder. 

"  Why,  then,  I  desire  to  see  her,"  said  Edgar,  already 
half  inclined  to  depart  without  more  ado. 

I'll  see  if  she'll  see  you,"  said  the  voice.     "  Who'll  I 
tell  her  wants  her?" 

"  Edgar  Courtly." 

The  door  swung  to — bolts,  bars  and  chains  rattled  back 
to  their  places — and  for  a  few  minutes  all  was  silent. 
Then  a  shutter  cautiously  opened  over  Edgar's  head,  as  if 
for  some  one  to  peer  down,  and  then  as  cautiously  closed. 
Presently  there  was  another  rattling  at  the  door,  which 
this  time  swung  open,  and  the  same  harsh  voice  said :  . 

"  Come  in." 

"As  Edgar  crossed  the  threshold,  he  beheld  a  corpu- 
lent woman,  some  forty  years  of  age,  with  a  red,  bloated 
countenance  and  blear  eyes,  dressed  in  a  loose  gown  or 
wrapper,  who  eyed  him  coldly  until  he  had  cleared  the 
swing  of  the  door,  which  she  shut  with  impatient  violence, 
and  carefully  refastened. 

Then  turning,  "  Up  stairs,"  she  grumbled,  rather  than 
said,  and  led  the  way  herself. 

Passing  through  a  long,  dark  hall,  preceded  by  the 
woman,  Edgar  ascended  a  flight  of  stairs,  richly  carpeted, 
to  the  second  story ;  turning  to  the  right,  his  conductress 
threw  open  a  door  into  a  fine  apartment,  magnificently 
furnished,  and  brilliantly  lighted  with  gas,  although  broad 
daylight  without.  A  splendid  Brussels  carpet  covered  the 
floor,  over  which,  in  elegant  profusion,  were  arranged  the 
most  costly  articles  of  furniture.  Here  stood  mahogany 


THE   ABODE   OF   THE   UNFORTUNATE.  107 

and  rosewood  sofas,  ottomans,  settees  and  chairs,  covered 
with  purple  and  crimson  silk-velvet ;  there  two  large  marble 
tables,  strewn  with  books  and  music ;  yonder  an  organ  and 
piano  of  the  most  expensive  workmanship ;  while  the  walls 
were  adorned  with  mirrors,  that  doubled  the  splendors  of 
the  whole,  and  with  busts,  and  statuetts,  and  with  paintings 
worthy  the  attention  of  a  connoiseur  of  art. 

As  all  this  flashed  upon  Edgar,  a  refinement  so  far 
beyond  what  he  had  expected  to  find,  he  could  hardly 
credit  his  senses,  and  was  half  beginning  to  fancy  himself 
a  subject  of  fairy  magic,  translated  to  an  oriental  palace, 
when  his  eye  fell  upon  the  object  he  sought,  the  beautiful 
Ellen,  reclining  on  a  sofa  at  the  farthest  side  of  the  room, 
robed  now  in  a  costly  silk,  and  resplendent  with  pearl, 
diamonds  and  gold.  She  did  not  rise,  but  motioned  him 
to  close  the  door  and  advance  to  her  side.  He  did  so ;  and 
a*  she  reached  out  her  hand  to  him,  he  saw  she  was  very 
pale  and  a  good  deal  agitated. 

"  How  is  your  sister  ?"  was  her  first  question. 

"  I  thank  you,  she  is  well,"  replied  Edgar,  seating  him- 
self by  her  side ;  "  but  I  fear  I  cannot  say  as  much  for 
you." 

"No,"  rejoined  Ellen  with  a  sigh,  "I  am  not  well.  I 
have  been  ailing  ever  since  I  saw  you,  and  have  not  been 
out  of  my  room  for  several  days." 

"  I  thought  there  must  bfc  something  of  the  kind,  for 
you  have  not  called  upon  us,"  returned  Edgar,  "  and  there- 
fore I  came  to  see  you." 

"  You  are  very  kind,"  said  Ellen,  scarcely  able  to  repress 
her  tears,  "  to  take  such  disinterested  interest  in  one 
despised  by  the  world." 

"Not  disinterested  either,"  rejoined  Edgar.  "You 
forget  you  are  our  benefactress." 

"  I  would  to  God  I  could  forget  all  other  things  as 


108  TfiE   FORGED   WILL. 

easily,"  she  replied,  with  an  anguish.    "  That  was  nothing- 
nothing.     If  my  money  did  you  any  service  I  am  rejoiced 
to  know  it — but  I  pray  you  mention  it  not  again." 
..     "I  am  in  hopes  soon  to  restore  it,"  said  Edgar. 

"  Nay,  do  no  such  thing!"  returned  Ellen,  with  energy. 
"I  would  rather  you  keep  it;  for  in  your  hands,  and. that 
of  your  sweet  sister,  it  will  be  used  for  virtuous  ends ; 
while  in  mine,  base  mortal  that  I  am !  it  might  only  serve 
some  unholy  purpose.  Oh,  that  I  were  dead  and  in  my 
grave,"  she  continued,  bitterly,  "  away  from  the  sight,  the 
scorn,  and  contumely  of  man!  Were  it  not  I  dread  the 
great  and  terrible  Hereafter,  another  sun  should  not  rise 
upon  me  in  life." 

"Nay,  Ellen,  why  talk  thus?"  returned  Edgar,  gently 
and  soothingly.  "  You  have  done  wrong,  undoubtedly ; 
BO  have  I — so  have  all — for  all  human  nature  is  prone  to 
ere  in  a  greater  or  less  degree.  But  there  is  one  conso- 
lation left  us:  we  can  repent  of  our  errors  and  reform  our 
ways ;  and,  Ellen,  I  beseech  you,  as  one_  who  has  your 
happiness  at  heart,  to  change  your  present  course  !" 

"  And  be  a  thing  for  the  world  to  point  at,  hiss  at,  and 
insult L"  rejoined  Ellen,  mournfully.  "No!  no!  I  would 
rather  be  as  I  am — for  now  at  least  I  am  on  an  equality  with 
those  around  me." 

"  But  leave  here — go  where  you  are  unknown — live  an 
upright  life,  and  you  need  have  no  fears  of  being  insulted," 
returned  Edgar,  seriously. 

"And  think  you,  my  friend — for  of  all  men  I  have 
known,  you  are  the  only  one  I  can  truly  venture  to  call 
so — that  my  guilty  conscience  would  allow  me  to  mingle 
again  with  the  virtuous  ? — the  wolf  in  the  sheep's  fold ! 
No  no,  no!"  she  pursued,  hurriedly;  "I  can  not  do  it: 
I  have  thought  it  all  over  time  and  again,  and  have  wept 
such  tears  as  only  the  conscience-stricken  guilty  can  know. 


THE  ABODE  OF  THE  UNFORTUNATE.      109 

Go  where  I  would,  I  should  feel  that  all  eyes  were  upon 
me,  reading  the  thoughts  of  my  polluted  soul ;  and  it  would 
be  a  hell  of  torture  to  me  far  beyond  even  this.  I  am  a 
woman ;  and  well  you  know,  when  one  of  my  sex  is  branded 
with  shame,  there  is  no  doer  of  mercy  and  pardon"left  open 
for  us.  No,  do  what  we  may,  having  once  done  wrong, 
we  are  disgraced  for  ever,  and  towards  us  the  world's 
finger  of  scorn  stands  eternally  uplifted.  I  am  proud  as  I 
am  wretched ;  and  to  see  myself  shunned  by  all  honest  people, 
as  a  creature  to  be  abhorred,  would  be  a  punishment  I  could 
not  endure,  and  to  which  even  death  on  the  rack  would 
prove  a  glad  substitute.  Oh,  I  am  most  wretched  at  times ; 
and  were  it  not,  as  I  have  just  said,  I  dread  the  conse- 
quences hereafter,  another  sun  should  not  rise  save  upon 
my  livid  corse." 

"  Nay,  let  me  entreat  you  to  think  differently,  Ellen !" 
pleaded  Edgar,  gently,  taking  her  hand. 

"  Do  not  attempt  entreaty  !"  she  said,  rapidly,  "  for  you 
will  only  fail  where  others  have  failed  before.  There  was 
one,"  she  pursued,  pressing  her  hands  upon  her  throbbing 
temples,  and  looking  wildly  upon  Edgar,  "  whose  warning 
voice  I  disregarded  ere  I  became  criminal :  and  if  she 
could  not  arrest  me  in  my  wayward  course,  think  not  that 
any  have  now  the  power  to  reclaim.  My  mother !  oh,  my 
mother  !  oh  God,  my  mother !"  she  cried,  in  anguish;  and 
again  hiding  her  face,  sobbed  aloud. 

Edgar  endeavored  to  console  and  tranquilize  her,  but 
for  a  long  time  without  producing  any  effect,  other  than 
to  cause  a  fresh  burst  of  agony.  At  length,  becoming  a 
little  more  calm,  and  striving  to  repress  all  emotion,  she 
resumed : 

"  And  can  you  indeed  look  upon  me  without  abhorrence, 
considering  what  I  am  ?" 

"It  is  not  that  I  consider  what  you  are,"  answered 


110  THE   FORGED   WILL. 


Edgar,  "so  much  as  what  you  may  become,  if  you  will 
but  heed  my  counsel,  which  makes  you  less  criminal  in  my 
eyes  than  your  own.  The  evil  you  do  or  have  done,  no 
one  can  more  heartily  condemn  than  I.  It  is  the  good 
remaining  to  which  I  hopefully  turn,  to  see  you  saved  from 
a  fate  the  most  horrible  to  contemplate.  You  have  inti- 
mated that  here  you  are  on  an  equality  with  your  associ- 
ates. Permit  me  to  venture  the  assertion,  that  in  nobleness 
of  nature  and  refinement  of  soul,  you  are  far,  far  their 
superior ;  and  hence  what  to  them  is  of  easy  endurance, 
to  you  is  a  torture  almost  unbearable.  To  them,  sin  is  a 
golden  ball  of  delightful  temptation — to  you,  a  grinning 
skull,  horrifying  to  your  senses.  They  have  done  and  still 
do  wrong,  because  it  is  the  strongest  passion  they  possess 
— you,  because  you  have  been  seduced  into  error,  and 
fancy  there  is  no  escape." 

"You  speak  much  truth,"  rejoined  Ellen,  mournfully. 
"  Were  I  what  I  was  once,  with  all  the  knowledge  I  now 
possess,  not  a  world,  were  it  laid  at  my  feet,  should  tempt 
me  to  be  what  I  am — but  being  what  I  am,  a  world,  even 
had  I  such  to  offer,  could  not  restore  me  to  the  purity  and 
happiness  I  possessed  ere  the  tempter  came.  My  tale  is 
brief,  and  soon  told— you  take  an  interest  in  my  fate — 
therefore  listen  to  what  these  lips  have  never  as  yet 
revealed  to  mortal  ear  : 

"  On  the  banks  of  the  beautiful  and  romantic  Hudson, 
some  hundred  miles  or  so  above  here,  stands  a  lovely 
cottage,  shaded  in  the  summer  by  a  sylvan  grove,  and  by 
vines  and  flowers  that  entwine  themselves  gracefully  and 
luxuriantly  about  it.  Here,  in  times  past,  lived  a  happy 
family — a  father,  mother,  and  daughter — the  latter  an 
only  child,  on  whom  both  parents  fondly  doated — too 
fondly,  I  fear,  for  their  good  and  her  own.  The  fearful 
epidemic  of  1832,  called  the  father  suddenly  to  eternity, 


THE  ABODE  OF  THE  UNFORTUNATE.      Ill 

and  struck  the  first  fell  blow  against  the  happiness  of  the 
two  survivors.  Time  passed  on,  and  the  love  of  mother 
and  daughter,  which  had  been  heretofore  divided  by  a  hus- 
band and  father,  now  centred  upon  each  other,  with  an 
intensity  that  softened  their  grief  for  the  lost  one.  Fair 
and  beautiful — alas  !  too  beautiful  for  her  own  salvation — 
the  daughter  bloomed  eighteen,  the  reigning  belle  of  the 
village,  with  a  host  of  admirers  ever  in  her  train.  Unsus- 
picious as  she  was  unsophisticated  in  the  ways  of  a  heart- 
less world,  and  somewhat  vain  by  nature,  but  more  so  by 
circumstances,  she  was  thus  a  fit  subject  for  the  machina- 
tions of  one  of  the  handsomest  and  most  accomplished 
young  men  she  had  ever  beheld.  Add  to  these  attractions, 
that  he  was  from  the  fashionable  circles  of  New  York,  the 
son  of  a  millionaire,  and  that  to  her,  comparatively  a  coun- 
try rustic,  he  paid  the  utmost  deference,  professing  at  the 
same  time  an  ardent  attachment,  and  you  will  scarcely 
wonder  that,  dazzled  by  his  position,  and  the  prospective 
brought  before  her  mind's  eye,  as  well  as  grateful  for  the 
distinction  she  fancied  conferred  upon  her,  her  affections 
should  become  enlisted,  and  she  gradually  be  led  on  to  her 
own  destruction.  This  her  mother  saw  and  warned  her 
of  repeatedly ;  but  when  was  an  over-indulged  youth  or 
maiden  ever  known  to  profit  by  the  counsels  of  maturer 
years,  unless  coerced  or  brought  to  the  thinking  point  by 
sad  experience.  Yet  do  not  fancy  she  leaped  from  virtue 
to  vice  knowingly.  No !  all  the  world  could  never  have 
persuaded  her  to  that.  She  knew  she  was  doing  wrong, 
but  did  not  dream  of  aught  criminal,  until  the  fatal  Rubi- 
con of  vice  had  been  passed,  as  in  a  dream,  and  she  awoke 
to  the  horrible  reality  of  knowing  her  steps  could  never  be 
retraced — that  her  fair  name  and  fame  were  blasted  for- 
ever— her  peace  of  mind  forever  ruined.  Nor  was  this 
effected  but  with  the  basest  deception.  She  was  persuaded 


112  THE   FORGED  WILL. 

to  elope  with  him  she  loved,  and  be  privately  married,  that 
the  news  thereof  might  not  reach  his  father's  ears,  and  he 
thereby  be  cut  off  with  a  shilling.  At  night,  and  by 
stealth,  she  left  the  roof  of  her  fond  mother  and  came  to 
this  city,  where  she  was  joined  in  holy  wedlock — or  at 
least  so  led  to  suppose,  until  the  awful  truth  of  a  base 
deception  having  been  practised,  was  subsequently  revealed 
to  her.  Then  it  was  the  lamb  became  a  tigress,  fearful  to 
look  upon ;  for  all  the  wild  passions  of  hell  itself  were 
stirred  within  her ;  and  he  who  had  brought  her  to  this, 
was  fortunate  to  escape  with  life,  until  her  first  frenzy  was 
over.  As  it  was,  even,  when  next  she  and  her  lover  met, 
there  was  a  fearful  scene ;  and  with  the  door  of  her  apart- 
ment bolted  upon  him,  a  glittering  dagger  in  her  hand, 
there  would  have  been  a  new  tragedy — a  horrifying  tale 
of  bloody  retribution  for  the  world  to  gossip  over — 
had  not  he,  on  his  bended  knees,  calling  Heaven  to  wit- 
ness, solemnly  vowed  to  make  her  his  lawful  wife,  and  that,, 
too,  ere  another  month  should  roll  over  her  guilty  head. 
"To  avoid  detail,"  continued  Ellen,  with  mournful  energy, 
raising  herself  to  a  sitting  posture,  "three  years  have 
since  passed,  and  yet  that  vow  has  never  been  fulfilled." 

"But  the  lover — the  seducer,"  asked  Edgar,  quickly, 
"  what  of  him  ?" 

"  He  is  her  lover  still ;  and  if  not  by  the  laws  of  man, 
at  least  before  high  Heaven,  Ellen  Douglas  is  his  true  and 
loyal  wife." 

"But  when  he  broke  the  vow  ?" 

"  He  did  it  by  giving  good  cause,  and  making  another 
equally  as  strong  and  equally  as  futile.  But  I  loved, 
trusted,  and  forgave  him — for  what  will  not  poor  woman 
do  for  him  she  loves  !  He  has  made  a  dozen  vows  since 
then,  only  to  break  them  all  and  leave  me  what  I  am." 

"  Then  why  accuse  yourself  of  being  such  a  vile  wretch. 


THE  ABODE  OP  THE   UNFORTUNATE.  113 

when  the  sin  was  not  so  much  your  own  as  another's  ?" 
asked  Edgar. 

"  But  the  sin  was  my  own,"  said  Ellen,  mournfully ; 
"  for  did  I  not  disregard  the  counsels  of  a  beloved  mother, 
and  basely,  like  a  guilty  being,  forsake  her  in  the  dead 
hour  of  night?  alas  !  alas  !  to  the  breaking  of  her  heart ;" 
and  turning  her  face,  the  wretched  girl  burst  into  tears. 

"  And  where  is  she  now  ?"  inquired  Edgar. 

"Where?"  echoed  Ellen,  with  a  startling  emphasis; 
"  where  I  would  to  God  I  were — with  the  dead !"  and 
sinking  back  upon  her  seat,  she  remained  for  a  few  minutes 
completely  overcome  with  the  force  of  her  feelings. 

Edgar  made  no  reply,  for  he  knew  there  were  sorrows, 
and  more  especially  those  where  a  self-condemning  con- 
science formed  a  portion,  far  beyond  the  power  of  human 
consolation,  and  the  which  it  were  but  mockery  to  attempt 
to  soothe.  After  a  silence  of  some  minutes,  only  broken 
by  her  sigjis  and  sobs,  Ellen  turned  to  Edgar,  and  re- 
sumed : 

"  This,  my  friend,  made  me  a  wretch — this,  and  the 
thoughts  of  what  I  am,  most  wretched.  But,"  she  added, 
with  a  wild,  startled  look,  "  I  could  bear  all — even  my  dis- 
grace and  the  contumely  of  my  fellow  creatures — bear  all 
to  my  death,  without  murmuring — were  I  assured  that  he, 
the  idol  of  my  heart,  as  he  is  the  author  of  my  misery,  but 
loved  me  with  one  half  the  passion  he  has  professed.  Oh ! 
it  is  the  bitter,  harrowing  thought,  that,  after  all,  I  may 
be  abandoned,  forsaken,  and  that  for  another,  which  keeps 
my  brain  on  fire,  and  has  driven  me  nigh  distracted !  But 
he  shall  never  wed  her  and  Ellen  Douglas  live !"  she 
cried,  with  sudden  vehemence,  springing  to  her  feet, 
greatly  to  the  surprise  of  Edgar,  and  towering  aloft  like 
an  indignant  queen,  while  her  dark  eyes  glared  fearfully 
around :  "  No,  he  shall  never  wed  her  and  I  live  polluted  ! 
10 


114  THE   FORGED   TTILL. 

— never,  never,  never — I  swear  it  before  high  Heaven  !" 
and  she  threw  back  her  head,  cast  her  eyes  upward,  and 
raised  her  hand  aloft,  with  a  natural  eloquence  of  gesture 
the  greatest  orator  might  have  envied. 

"And  if  I  may  be  permitted  the  question,"  said  Edgar, 
almost  fearful  to  hazard  the  inquiry,  "  who  is  the  villain 
of  whom  you  speak  ?" 

"Nay,"  cried  Ellen,  eagerly,  suddenly  grasping  his 
arm,  and  fixing  her  eyes  upon  his,  "  cafl  him  not  a  villain 
— it  is  too  harsh  a  term  !  I  may  call  him  so,  but  I  would 
not  hear  another." 

"  I  crave  pardon  !"  returned  Edgar,  perceiving  his  mis- 
take ;  "  but  my  indignation  got  the  better  of  my  prudence." 

"As  you  are  a  stranger  here,"  resumed  Ellen,  abruptly, 
seeming  not  to  heed  the  apology,  "  and  know  not  the  per- 
sonage in  question,  I  will  venture  to  answer  you — but  all 
in  confidence,  remember.  Know  then,  he  is  the  only  son 
of  one  Oliver  Atherton,  well  known  here  as  a  millionaire." 

"What!"  exclaimed  Edgar,  springing  to  his  feet  in 
astonishment:  "Acton  Atherton?" 

"  You  know  him,  then  ?"  cried  Ellen,  breathlessly. 

"  Only  by  report,  and  as  my  cousin — not  personally. 

"  Your  cousin  ?"  almost  screamed  the  other,  grasping 
his  arm  and  looking  completely  bewildered.  "  Your  cousin, 
did  you  say  ?" 

"Unfortunately  he  is  so,"  rejoined  Edgar,  setting  his 
teeth  hard  in  anger. 

"  He  your  cousin !"  repeated  Ellen,  who  in  her  astonish- 
ment could  think  of  nothing  else ;  "  and  you  thus  ! — such 
disparity  between  you  !  Pray  tell  me  how  is  this  ?" 

"  By  the  devil's  own  labor,"  replied  Edgar,  bitterly ; 
"  you  know  his  servants  seldom  go  without  the  good  things 
of  this  world,  whatever  they  may  receive  in  the  next.  But 
come,  we  have  been  thrown  together  singularly,  you  have 


THE   ABODE   OF   THE   UNFORTUNATE.  115 

briefly  sketched  me  your  history,  and  as  I  believe  our  mis- 
fortunes both  date  from  one  source,  sit  down  and  I  will 
briefly  tell  you  mine ;"  and  Edgar  proceeded  to  give  the 
outlines  of  what  is  already  known  to  the  reader. 

"  And  now,  Ellen,"  he  said,  in  conclusion,  "  as  you  know 
something  of  his  history,  I  fancy  you  will  be  less  credulous 
concerning  what  comes  from  his  forked  tongue ;  for  that 
your  betrayer  will  keep  one  vow  with  you,  I  solemnly  do 
not  believe." 

"  Alas  !  what  will  then  become  of  me  ?"  groaned  Ellen, 
in  anguish  of  spirit. 

"  Let  me  repeat  my  advice.  Leave  here  and  retire  to 
some  secluded  part  of  the  country,  where  you  can  ever 
remain  unknown." 

"  No,  no,"  rejoined  Ellen,  "  I  could  not  do  that.  I  am 
so  constituted,  my  friend,  that  once  certain  I  am  not  loved — 

once  sure  I  am  forsaken But  hark  !"   she  exclaimed 

abruptly,  starting  up  and  springing  to  the  window;  "  there 
is  a  knock  at  the  door — perhaps  it  is  Acton.  It  is  !"  she 
added,  hurriedly,  the  next  moment,  as  gently  she  opened 
the  shutter  and  peered  down.  "  Quick,  quick,  my  friend, 
you  must  be  gone !  I  would  not  have  you  seen  by  your 
cousin  for  the  world  !  He  is  already  too  jealous,  and  the 
sight  of  you  would  be  my  undoing !  Pass  out  of  the  room 
at  once,  and,  as  he  approaches,  appear  to  have  come  from 
another  apartment !  Now  quick,  my  friend,  quick  !  Adieu ! 
I  will  see  you  another  time — adieu !"  and  as  she  uttered 
these  words  rapidly,  she  fairly  pushed  Edgar  from  the 
apartment  and  closed  the  door. 

Edgar  followed  her  instructions  to  the  letter,  and  the 
next  minute  passed  his  cousin,  whom  he  now  beheld  for  the 
first  time,  and  was  on  his  way,  unsuspected  by  the  other, 
to  the  street  door,  where  the  same  female  who  gave  him 
admittance  now  gave  him  exit. 


CHAPTER  X. 

THE   BETRAYER  AND   HIS  .VICTIM. 

As  the  reader  may  have  some  curiosity  to  know  some- 
thing more  of  Acton  Goldfinch,  an  individual  destined  to 
fill  a  dark  page  in  this  history,  we  will  return  to  the 
splendid  apartment  of  Ellen  Douglas.  Ere  he  entered  her 
presence,  Ellen  had  resumed  her  reclining  posture  on  the 
sofa,  from  which,  as  the  door  opened,  she  languidly  raised 
her  head  to  give  him  a  faint  welcome.  As  he  advanced  to 
her  side,  the  light,  falling  full  upon  him,  revealed  a  young 
man  of  slight  but  handsome  figure,  some  three  and  twenty 
years  of  age,  with  a  countenance  peculiarly  calculated  to 
arrest  and  rivet  the  attention  of  the  most  casual  observer. 
Though  slightly  effeminate,  it  was  comely,  much  beyond 
what  is  generally  seen  in  one  of  the  male  sex — possessing 
that  singular  beauty  which  is  far  more  apt  to  fascinate 
than  please  the  fastidious.  His  features  were  fine  and 
regular,  with  dark,  eloquent  black  eyes,  capable  of  a  soft 
and  languishing,  a  bright  and  merry,  or  a  dark  and  piercing 
expression,  according  to  the  varying  moods  of  their  pos- 
sessor. A  rather  high,  though  somewhat  narrow  forehead, 
a  slightly  aquiline  nose,  a  perfectly  formed  mouth,  filled 
with  a  beautiful  set  of  ivory  teeth,  and  a  neatly  curved  and 
well  rounded  chin,  gave  him  a  physiognomy  that  would 
have  been  prepossessing  as  it  was  handsome,  were  it  not 
for  a  something  in  the  expression,  seen  at  intervals,  like  a 
light  cloud  passing  athwart  the  sun,  which  warned  one  to 
be  wary  in  bestowing  confidence.  His  complexion  was 
(116) 


THE   BETRAYER  AND   HIS  VICTIM.  117 

dark,  but  very  clear,  almost  transparent,  adding  much  to 
his  beauty ;  and  as  he  raised  his  hat,  he  displayed  a  comely- 
shaped  head,  covered  with  a  profusion  of  dark  brown, 
natural  curls.  He  was  richly  but  rather  gaudily  dressed, 
nearly  every  article  differing  in  color,  though  each  the 
brightest  and  most  showy  of  its  kind ;  while  a  profuse  display 
of  jewelry,  all  incompatible  with  good  taste,  proved  his 
vanity  paramount  to  his  judgment.  And  this,  if  he  had 
any  at  all,  might  be  set  down  as  the  ruling  passion  of  Acton 
Atherton — for  to  gratify  his  vanity,  he  had  been  led  into 
those  very  excesses  which  were  fast  and  surely  hastening 
him  to  his  own  destruction.  Unlike  his  father,  he  was  not 
far-seeing,  and  lacked  the  cunning,  shrewdness  and  intel- 
lect to  be  a  great  schemer.  He  was  a  villain,  but  not  a 
deep  one ;  and  this  not  on  the  score  of  principle — for  in 
this  he  was  deficient — but  because  he  lacked  the  mental 
power  necessary  to  make  him  such.  Honor  of  a  certain 
kind  he  had — a  sort  of  fashionable  honor — which  causes 
dissolute  young  men  to  pay  their  gambling  debts,  though 
many  times  at  the  expense  of  such  as  do  them  menial  ser- 
vices. Honesty  he  had  to  a  certain  degree — insomuch, 
that  having  enough  of  his  own,  he  never  thought  to  steal, 
from  others.  He  was  benevolent,  too,  in  some  respects — 
that  is,  he  could  and  would  give  freely  whenever  his  fancy 
prompted  and  his  vanity  seemed  likely  to  reward  him ;  but 
he  would  go  no  further — the  usual  claims  which  suffering 
penury  has  upon  our  sympathies,  having  no  effect  upon  his. 
If  he  had  any  veneration,  it  was  for  the  man  who  could 
best  handle  a  pack  of  cards,  make  the  largest  single  count 
at  billiards,  or  prove  champion  in  a  pugilistic  encounter. 
In  short,  his  mind  was  gross  and  selfish,  and  adapted  rather 
to  sensual  than  intellectual  enjoyments.  Yet  he  could  be 
remarkably  fascinating  to/4he  opposite  sex — too  much  so 
for  their  own  good — for  his  consummate  vanity  and  uriprin- 
10* 


118  THE   FORGED   WILL. 

cipled  nature,  ever  led  him  to  take  advantage  of  their 
innocence  whenever  opportunity  favored.  It  was  to  gratify 
his  vanity  he  completed  the  ruin  of  Ellen  Douglas ;  and  it 
was  alone  her  beauty,  of  which  it  was  his  pride  to  boast 
among  his  associates,  that  had  thus'  far  kept  him  from 
utterly  deserting  her.  Perhaps  the  reader,  acquainted 
with  the  localities  of  New  York,  and  knowing  Acton  so 
vain,  will  be  surprised  he  did  not  board  Ellen  in  a  more 
fashionable  quarter  of  the  city ;  but  for  this  he  had  his 
reasons,  of  which  it  is  unnecessary  we  should  speak. 

To  all  the  qualities,  good  and  bad,  of  Acton  Atherton, 
we  must  add  one  other,  more  dangerous  than  all  the  rest. 
If  he  had  a  countenance  and  an  eye  to  fascinate,  he  cer- 
tainly had  a  voice  to  charm,  whose  every  intonation  was 
melody  itself — and  this  was  by  far  the  most  dangerous 
weapon  with  which  he  assailed  the  'citadel  of  virtue.  Pos- 
sessing a  good  flow  of  language,  he  could  talk  for  hours,  in 
a  way  to  please,  sooth  and  enchant,  like  the  music  of  a 
murmuring  stream — and  yet  never  advance  one  grand  or 
original  idea,  or  inculcate  one  highly  moral  principle.  But 
the  mass  of  mankind  look  more  to  the  manner  of  delivery 
than  the  sentiment ;  and  hence  a  gem  of  thought,  plainly 
spoken,  will  make  less  impression  than  a  stale  idea  bril- 
liantly uttered.  In  this  latter  virtue  lay  the  power  of  Acton 
Atherton,  and  he  both  knew  and  used  it. 

"Well,  Ellen,"  he  said,  in  a  bland  but  careless  tone, 
"you  are  looking  disconsolate — how  is  this?" 

"I  seldom  look  happy,"  was  the  grave  reply;  "or  if  I 
do,  my  looks  belie  my  heart." 

"Not  happy,"  he  rejoined,  partly,  stroking  his  chin  with 
an  air  of  self-complaisance,  "  and  a  rich  man's  son  for  your 
lover !  Fie,  Ellen,  fie !" 

"  I  would  he  were  a  poor  man's  son,"  said  Ellen. 

"Why  so?" 


THE   BETRAYER   AND   HIS   VICTIM.  119 

"  I  could  then  hope." 

"Hope?  poh!  you  will  never  cease  of  that — always 
harping  on  the  same  theme.  You  have  the  reality  before 
you,  so  for  what  need  you  hope?" 

"  That  he  who  sits  beside  me,  will  redeem  his  many 
broken  vows,  and  in  part  repair  the  wrong  he  has  done 
me." 

"  Nonsense,  Ellen — what  has  put  you  to  thinking  of  this 
again  ?" 

"  It  is  never  absent  from  my  mind." 

"Well,  well,"  rejoined  Acton,  hurriedly,  and  seeming 
somewhat  embarrassed ;  "  all  in  good  time,  Ellen — all  in 
good  time." 

"  You  procrastinate,"  said  Ellen,  fixing  her  dark  eyes 
upon  him.  "  You  even  use  less  protestation  of  compliance 
than  formerly." 

"  Poh  !  you  mistake,  girl." 

"  No"  cried  Ellen,  with  vehemence,  grasping  his  arm 
somewhat  wildly,  "  I  do  not  mistake !  You  have  some 
other  plan  in  view — you  intend  to  desert  me  !" 

"No,  on  my  honor!"  returned  Acton,  in  some  con- 
fusion :  "  I  tell  you  you  mistake." 

"And  I  tell  you  I  do  not  mistake!"  rejoined  Ellen, 
more  vehemently  than  ever,  now  fully  roused  to  a  sense  of 
meditated  baseness  on  the  part  of  her  lover. 

"  And  can  you  for  a  moment,  my  dear,  beloved  Ellen, 
think  I  would  desert  you?  No,  on  my  knees,  I  swear — " 

"  Hold!"  interrupted  the  other :  "  swear  no  more,  Acton 
Atherton  !  for  you  have  broken  oaths  enough  already  to 
damn  one  far  less  guilty  than  yourself.  Swear  no  more, 
I  tell  you,  for  the  thought  of  it  sickens  and  fills  me  with 
horror !  On  your  bended  knees,  calling  Heaven  to  witness, 
you  swore,  three  years  ago,  to  make  me  your  wife.  A 
dozen  times  since  have  you  done  the  same  thing — and  yet 


120  THE   FORGED   WILL. 

•what  am  I  now  ?  A  thing  to  be  loathed  and  despised  by 
all  virtuous  people — a  poor  human  wretch,  destined  to  fill 
a  guilty  grave !  Oh !  Acton,  why  did  you  come  to  me, 
when  I  was  happy,  and,  because  I  loved  you  and  trusted 
you,  coldly  and  cruelly  betray  my  confidence,  and  put  a 
stain  upon  my  name  that  an  ocean  of  repentant  tears  can 
never  wash  away !  Why  did  you  dome  to  me,  I  say,  when 
I  was  happy,  and  with  insidious  arts  forever  ruin  my 
peace  of  mind,  making  of  me  a  wretch  that  abhors  her  own 
existence  ?  You  knew  I  loved  you  wildly  and  madly — so 
madly,  oh  God !  that  I  forsook  my  own  home  and  my  beloved 
mother  at  your  request !  For  you  I  disregarded  the 
righteous  counsels  of  one  whom,  but  for  you,  I  would  have 
drained  my  heart  of  its  blood  sooner  than  so  offended. 
And  what  have  been  the  awful  consequences  which  I  have 
struggled  to  bear  for  your  sake  ?  Look  at  them,  Acton, 
as  I  do,  with  a  quailing  eye  !  My  mother  is  in  her  grave 
— her  broken  heart  crumbling  to  dust — a  noble  heart, 
broken  by  the  conduct  of  me,  her  daughter,  because  she 
loved  me  more  than  life.  And  I — I —  "  she  fairly  screamed 
in  frenzy,  grasping  his  arm  fiercely,  and  letting  her  dark 
eyes  burn  into  his,  that  quailed  before  their  powerful  glance 
and  sunk  to  the  ground — "I  broke  that  heart  for  you — 
for  you — who  in  return  only  blighted  mine,  as  the  frost 
does  the  flower,  and  made  me  the  victim  of  false-sworn 
vows !  Look  at  the  three  years  of  suffering  I  have  borne — 
suffering  beyond  the  power  of  mortal  tongue  to  describe — 
suffering  full  of  wo  unutterable — ruined  hopes,  corroding 
remorse,  and  a  guilty  conscience,  still  made  guiltier  by  the 
damning  deeds  of  daily  perpetration  !  Think  of  it,  Acton — 
look  upon  it — and  let  the  thought  harrow  up  your  soul  to 
a  redeeming  virtue  !  Remember  all  this  has  been  done  for 
you — for  love  only — by  one  you  once  basely  betrayed,  and 


THE   BETRAYER   AND   HIS   VICTIM.  121 

have  now  planned  to  desert  and  cast  away,  as  we  throw  chaff 
upon  the  wind !" 

Ellen  paused,  and  gazing  upon  her  trembling  lover  for  a 
moment — now  trembling  with  fear  rather  than  regret — she 
relaxed  her  grasp,  sunk  slowly  back  upon  her  seat,  and 
covered  her  face,  as  if  to  shut  out  the  horrid  scenes  her 
memory  had  called  up  from  the  eventful  past. 

For  a  few  minutes  Acton  made  no  reply,  and  for  the 
simple  reason  he  knew  not  what  to  say.  What  he  had  just 
heard  he  felt  was  true ;  and  he  was  completely  confounded 
at  Ellen's  seeming  knowledge  of  what  he  had  supposed  a 
profound  secret,  and  overawed  by  her  wild,  impetuous 
manner.  Never  had  he  seen  her  thus  but  once,  and  that 
the  time  already  referred  to  by  herself,  when  she  forced 
from  him  a  solemn  vow  to  make  her  his.  Three  years  had 
since  passed,  and  she  had  been  to  him  a  quiet,  docile 
being ;  and  he  had  fancied  himself  secure — that  her  spirit 
was  crushed,  the  lion  of  her  nature  forever  subdued.  But 
now  was  he  suddenly  made  aware  of  his  mistake,  and  saw 
himself  entangled  in  a  perplexity,  whence  there  appeared 
little  chance  of  extrication.  What  was  to  be  done!  he 
fain  would  have  lied  on ;  but  she  had  stopped  his  oaths, 
and  would  not  receive  his  vows,  and  therefore  had  made 
him  dumb  of  protestations.  Should  he  come  out  boldly, 
own  all,  and  brave  her  to  her  teeth?  He  feared  to  do  so, 
and  yet  this  might  produce  the  desired  effect.  At  all 
events,  he  resolved  to  try  duplicity  once  more,  and  should 
this  again  fail  him,  he  would  be  guided  by  circumstances. 
Having  resolved,  he  turned  to  her,  and  gently  taking  her 
hand,  which  she  passively  permitted,  he,  in  his  blandest 
and  most  musical  tones,  said : 

"]£llen,  dearest  Ellen — idol  of  my  heart — my  soul's 
adoration — you  wrong  me  !  What  you  have  said  of  suffer- 
ing on  your  own  part,  I  know  to  be  true ;  but  it  seems  you 


122  THE   FORGED   WILL. 

have  overlooked  mine.  I  too  have  suffered  under  the  vigi- 
lant eyes  of  a  suspicious  father,  lest  our  secret  should  be 
discovered,  and  either  I  be  ruined  in  prospects,  or  all 
intercourse  between  us  be  broken  off  forever.  How  can 
you  accuse  me  for  a  moment,  of  thinking  to  desert  you  ? 
you  whom  I  love  almost  to  madness,  and  for  whom  I  have 
done  so  much.  Look  around  you,  upon  the  splendors  of 
this  apartment!  Is  there  a  thing  here  that  was  not  pur- 
chased with  my  money  ?  and  would  I  have  bestowed  it  thus, 
had  I  not  loved  you?" 

"  Take  back  all  you  have  given  me !"  said  Ellen,  sternly, 
uncovering  her  pale  face,  and  fixing  her  dark,  determined, 
unquailing  eye  upon  his;  "  take  back  all,  strip  me  of  every 
thing  I  possess,  clothe  me  in  rags,  feed  me  on  bread  and 
water,  but  make  me  your  lawful  wife,  and  I  will  bear  all 
without  a  murmur — will  never  reproach  you  more — nay, 
will  daily  bless  you,  and  do  all  that  within  me  lies  to 
render  you  happy.  You  say  you  love  me  !  Give  me  the 
proof  of  your  hand,  and  I  will  be  happy — Or  if  not  happy," 
she  added,  quickly,  correcting  herself,  "I  will  at  least 
make  no  complaints,  and  will  ever  greet  your  coming  with 
a  smile,  your  going  forth  with  a  blessing." 

"But,"  hesitated  Acton,  "if  I  were  to  do  this,  and  it 
should  reach  my  father's  ears " 

"  But  it  shall  not,"  interrupted  Ellen,  "  there  is  no  neces- 
sity of  making  the  affair  public.  We  can  be  privately 
married,  and  none  be  the  wiser  of  our  secret." 

"  Well,  I  will  see  what  can  be  done." 

"  Then  you  must  see  quickly,  for  I  have  set  my  heart 
upon  it,  and  it  must  speedily  be  accomplished.  Ay,  for 
that  matter,  a  license  can  be  procured,  and  the  ceremony 
performed  at  once.  Why  should  we  delay  ?" 

"Certainly,"  returned  Acton,  stammering;  "but  you 
see — the  fact  is — I — that  is " 


THE   BETRAYER   AND   TITS   VICTIM.  123 

"  Hold !"  exclaimed  Ellen,  springing  to  her  feet,  and 
gazing  upon  him  with  the  dignified  calmness  of  suppressed 
passion.  "  Hold,  Acton  Atherton,  ere  the  love  I  have 
borne  you  turns  to  hate,  and  these  hands  do  a  deed  time 
can  never  undo  !  I  see  it  all !  You  do  not  love  me,  and 
never  did — all  your  false  oaths  to  the  contrary  notwith- 
standing. And  now,  Acton  Atherton,  you  almost  hate 
me — and  for  why  ?  Because  you  fancy  I  stand  in  your 
way.  Well,  sir,  you  fancy  truly.  I  do  and  will  stand  in 
your  way,  so  long  as  I  am  cursed  with  an  existence ;  and 
if  you  further  wrong  me,  my  sinful  spirit  shall  rise  from 
my  grave  to  haunt  you.  Now  mark  me,  and  ponder  well 
on  all  I  say  !  for  not  one  word  will  be  spoken  that  has  not 
been  carefully  weighed.  You  are  on  the  point,  or  at  least 
you  think  so,  of  forming  a  wealthy  alliance.  Nay,  start 
not,  and  use  not  your  lying  tongue,  for  you  see  I  know 
all !  The  daughter  of  Calvin  Morton  is  no  small  prize  ; 
and  I  can  hardly  wonder  you  should  seek  to  cast  off  for 
her,  one  whose  blasted  reputation,  would,  as  your  wife, 
add  nothing  to  your  besetting  sin  of  vanity.  I  do  not 
wonder,  I  say,  you  seek  to  cast  her  off  for  another.  But 
this  may  not  be.  Edith  Morton,  I  learn,  is  an  angelic 
creature  of  pure  virtue.  She  must  not  link  herself  to  one 
who  has  proved  himself  a  villain.  Besides,  I,  who  now 
stand  before  you  a  polluted  wretch,  was  once,  perhaps,  as 
good  and  pure  as  she.  Who  made  me  what  I  am  ?  You, 
Acton  Atherton — you — and  to  you  I  look  for  such  repara- 
tion as  lies  in  your  power." 

"  But  surely,  Ellen,  you  would  not  blight  my  fair  pros- 
pects ?"  pleaded  Acton,  greatly  astonished  at  her  knowledge 
of  what  he  believed  her  ignorant. 

"  Blight  your  fair  prospects  !"  repeated  Ellen,  with  indig- 
nant scorn  :  "  Blight  your  fair  prospects  !  Why  not  ? 


124  THE   FORGED  WILL. 

Have  you   not  blighted  mine — not  only  temporally  but 
eternally  ?" 

"  But  you  know  that  was  in  the  excess  of  youthful  pas-  --*  i 
sion,  when  the  brain  was  hot." 

"And  having  cooled  on  my  disgrace,  the  passion  fled,'» 
you  would  say?"  rejoined  Ellen,  with  the  utmost  difficulty  * 
suppressing  a  burst  of  indignation.  $ 

"Why,  not  exactly  that,  though  something  like  it,"* 
answered  Acton,  mistaking  the  apparent  tranquility  of 
the  other  for  something  more  real.  "  But  come,  let  u$. 
settle  this  matter  amicably,  as  two  lovers  should.  You  have 
a  strong  claim  upon  me,  I  admit ;  but  I  am  wealthy,  and 
will  buy  it  up.  By  Jove !  you  shall  be  rich ;  and  with 
riches,  you  know,  come  all  the  other  creature  comforts. 
Come,  what  say  you  ?" 

It  is  impossible  to  describe  the  expression  on  the  coun- 
tenance of  Ellen,  as  these  heartless  words  escaped  the  lips 
of  her  perfidious  lover.  It  was  a  curious  mingling  of 
scorn,  hate,  grief,  self-reproach  and  remorse.  In  a  moment, 
as  it  were,  the  scales  had  fallen  from  her  eyes,  and 
she  beheld  Acton  Goldfinch  the  mean  trifling  villain  he 
was.  A  villain,  to  some  extent,  it  is  true,  she  had  always 
believed  him  ;  but  she  was  unprepared  for  such  cold-hearted 
baseness.  He  seemed  no  longer  anxious  to  put  her  off  with 
even  false  promises,  but  rather  to  let  her  understand  she 
was  a  commodity  to  be  trafficked  with — to  be  bought  and 
sold  as  a  beast  or  slave.  Hitherto,  amid  all  .the  stormy 
passion  of  her  ill-fated  existence,  there  had  been  no  period 
when  the  beacon-light  of  hope  appeared  completely  extin- 
guished. It  had  burned  dim  and  dimmer — had  been  almost 
lost  sight  of  in  the  mists  of  the  distance — but  still  its 
vicinity  could  ever  be  traced,  and  by  it  her  frail  bark  had 
been  saved  from  destruction.  Now  a  single  breath  had 
extinguished  it,  and  she  was  left  to  grope  her  way  in  the 


THE   BETRAYER   AND   HIS   WCTIM.  125 

,_  darkness.  It  is  a  terrible  thing  to  feel  utter  desolation — 
to  know  your  la,st  hope  is  gone — that  you  have  now  nothing 
more  cheerful"' to  look  to  than  death  and  the  cold  silent 
tomb  !  How  it  chills  the  heart,  making  the  very  blood  that 
courses  your  veins  like  ice-bound  streams,  and  your  soul 
shrink  within  itself  with  a  trembling,  undefinable  horror ! 

Ellen  made  no  loud  demonstrations  of  anger  or  disap- 
pointment ;  but  she  looked  fixedly  at  Acton,  till  his  eyes, 
that  at  first  encountered  hers  triumphantly,  sunk  to  the 
ground,  and  an  awe,  he  in  vain  thought  to  shake,off,  held 
him  spell-bound  and  speechless. 

"  You  have  spoken,"  she  said,  in  a  voice  so  changed  and 
sepulchral  that  its  tones  startled  him;  "you  have,  in  a 
moment,  turned  to  hate  the  love  of  one  whose  greatest 
fault  has  hitherto  been  that  of  loving  you  too  well.  Well, 
be  it  so ;  but  take  yourself  hence  at  once  and  forever ! 
Henceforth  I  would  forget,  during  the  short  period  I  may 
survive,  I  have  ever  seen  one  whp  bore  the  name  of  Acton 
Atherton — one  whom  I  now  hate  with  all  the  bitterness  of 
my  nature.  Go,  sir  !  begone  !  and  let  us  never  meet  again, 
or  I  may  be  tempted  to  do  what  can  never  be  undone !" 

"  But,  dear  Ellen,"  pleaded  Acton,  "you  surely  will  not 
follow  to  prosecute  me? — you  will  Jet  me  go  my  ways  in 
peace?" 

"  So  far  as  this :  I  solemnly  swear,  before  that  Almighty 
God  in  whose  presence  ere  long  I  expect  to  stand,  that  if 
in  my  power,  I  will  expose  you  to  Edith  Morton,  that  she 
my  be  saved,  if  she  will  but  take  heed.  Further  than  this 
I  care  not." 

"  You  swear  to  do  this  ?"  cried  Acton  starting  up  in 
rage. 

"I  do." 

"Then,  by !  you  shall  not !"  he  cried,  seizing  a  silver 

hilted  dagger  that  rested  on  the  table.  "  Sooner  than  be 
11 


126  THE   FORGED  WILL. 

so  exposed  by  a  dishonored  thing  like  yourself,  I  will  let 
out  your  heart's  blood  !"  and  he  made  towards  her,  as  if 
to  strike  her,  his  countenance  expressive  of  the  blackness 
of  his  heart. 

Ellen  showed  no  signs  of  fear ;  but  calmly  folding  her 
arms  on  her  breast,  again  fixed  her  dark,  penetrating  eye 
upon  his.  Acton,  encountering  that  look,  paused  irresolute. 

"Fool!"  she  said,  tauntingly;  "for  what  do  you  take 
me?"  And  then  added  sternly:  "  Begone,  Acton  Atherton 
— begone !" 

As  he  did  not  seem  disposed  to  comply  at  once,  she 
suddenly  sprung  forward,  and  ere  he  was  aware  of  her 
object,  wrenched  the  weapon  from  his  hand,  and  wildly 
brandished  it  before  his  eyes. 

"It  is  my  turn  now,"  she  exclaimed,  triumphantly,  as  he 
took  a  step  or  two  backwards  in  alarm.  "  Begone,  I  say ! 
or,  by  my  mother's  soul,  I  strike  this  to  your  heart !" 

"I  go,"  he  said,  hastily  quitting  the  apartment,  and 
shutting  the  door  behind  him.  "I  go,"  he  muttered  again, 
to  himself;  "  but  I  will  have  my  revenge  !  She  will  expose 
me,  eh?"  he  continued,  biting  his  lips.  "Expose  me — 
make  me  the  laughing-stock  and  gossip  of  the  town !  No, 

no,  by !  she  shall  not ;  I  will  see  her  dead  first;"  and 

with  these  dark  words,  uttered  by  his  heart  as  well  as  lips, 
he  left  the  house. 

As  for  Ellen,  as  soon  as  he  was  gone,  she  turned,  stag- 
gered to  the  sofa,  and  throwing  herself  upon  it,  in  a 
state  of  exhaustion,  burst  into  tears. 

Poor  girl !  Her  heart  was  now  indeed  desolate — her  last 
hope  had  fled. 


CHAPTER  XI. 

REWARD   OF  DARING. 

AFTER  waiting  in  much  anxiety  the  time  appointed  by 
himself  for  calling  upon  Elmer,  Edgar  repaired  to  his  lodg- 
ings and  sent  up  his  card.  In  a  few  minutes  the  servant 
returned  with  Elmer's  compliments,  (who  was  too  busy 
himself  to  see  any  one)  and  a  package  neatly  sealed,  which 
Edgar  took  with  a  trembling  hand  and  beating  heart,  for 
this  he  rightly  judged  contained  the  so  long  wished  for 
decision.  As  soon  as  he  was  alone  in  the  street,  he  hurri- 
edly broke  it  open,  and  to  his  dismay  found  it  to  contain 
only  his  own  manuscript  and  the  following  note : 

"  Mr.  Elmer  begs  leave  to  return  Mr.  Courtly  his  manu- 
script— not  from  want  of  merit,  for  it  is  an  excellent 
production — but  simply  because  he  has  selected  one  written 
by  a  friend  which  will  answer  his  purpose." 

"  And  for  this  I  have  struggled,  and  toiled,  and  hoped  !" 
said  Edgar,  bitterly,  rending  the  manuscript  into  a  thousand 
pieces,  and  scattering  them  like  snow-flakes  upon  the  earth. 
"  Well,  well,  well — the  fates  are  against  me,  so  why  should 
I  contend  with  my  destiny.  0,  man  !  selfish,  cruel,  un- 
feeling man  !  0,  that  I  could  forever  fly  your  sight,  and 
in  some  far  off"  wilderness  end  my  days  !  Alas  !  poor 
Virginia  ! — she  will  weep  when  she  knows  my  success,  for 
she  sanguinely  counted  on  my  gaining  the  prize.  But  I 
will  seek  again  for  manual  labor.  I  must  have  something 
wherewith  to  cheer  her.  But  stay,  let  me  look  at  this  paper 

(127) 


128  THE   FORGED   WILL. 

again;"  and  taking  one  of  the  daily  journals  from  his 
pocket,  he  opened  and  read : 

"  The  noble  stranger,  who  a  day  or  two  since  so  heroi- 
cally saved  the  life  of  a  lady  in  Centre  street,  at  the  risk 
of  his  own,  is  particularly  requested  to  call  at  No.  — ,  Eighth 
Avenue,  where  he  will  find  friends  who  are  not  ungrate- 
ful." 

"  This  is  certainly  a  curious  coincidence,  or  I  must  be 
the  person  meant,"  mused  Edgar ;  "  and  if  so  something 
advantageous  may  come  of  my  answering  the  advertisement. 
Saved  the  life  of  a  lady  in  Centre  street !  Well  it  was  in 
Centre  street  I  checked  the  running  horse,  which,  perad- 
venture,  left  to  himself,  would  have  dashed  the  lady  to 
pieces.  At  all  events  there  can  be  no  harm  in  ascertaining 
who  is  referred  to,  and  I  will  go." 

Putting  his  determination  in  practice,  Edgar  in  due  time 
found  himself  before  a  stately  mansion — rivalling,  if  not 
surpassing,  his  uncle's  in  splendor  of  appearance — on  the 
door  of  which,  engraved  on  a  silver  plate,  he  read  the 
name  of  Calvin  Morton. 

"  Can  this  be  the  place  ?"  he  asked  himself,  and  again 
had  recourse  to  the  advertisement. 

Yes,  it  must  be,  for  the  numbers  tallied;  and  looking 
at  his  thread-bare  garments,  then  at  the  beautiful  marble 
steps,  the  silver  bell-handle,  and  the  high  windows,  hung 
with  white  and  damask  curtains,  Edgar  was  debating  whe- 
ther to  venture  a  ring  or  depart,  when  a  female,  richly 
dressed,  but  double-veiled  for  concealment,  passed  him 
hurriedly,  and  then  paused,  and  like  himself  gazed  curi- 
ously upon  the  handsome  structure.  Then  ascending  the 
steps,  she  took  hold  of  the  bell-handle,  looked  around 
eagerly,  partly  raised  her  veil,  gave  one  glance  at  Edgar, 
veiled  herself  again  quickly,  and,  without  ringing  at  all, 


REWARD   OF   DARING.  129 

descended  the  steps  in  haste,  and  departed  in  much  appa- 
rent agitation. 

"  Strange !"  mused  Edgar ;  "what  can  this  mean  ?  Some 
new  mystery,  I  suppose.  Those  features — surely,  I  have 
seen  them  before !  Ha !  now  I  bethink  me,  but  for  the 
place  where  I  find  her,  I  could  almost  swear  they  were 
those  of  Ellen  Douglas." 

Edgar  might  have  so  sworn  with  impunity,  for  Ellen 
Douglas  it  was ;  and  the  reader  will  doubtless  find  less 
cause  to  marvel  at  her  appearance  there  and  manner  than 
he  did. 

Decided  at  last  to  enter,  Edgar  rang  the  bell ;  and  on 
inquiring  of  the  servant  for  Mr.  Morton,  was  shown  into  a 
library  at  the  fair  end  of  the  hall,  where  sat  a  mild,  middle- 
aged  gentleman,  plainly  dressed,  of  benevolent  aspect, 
who  looked  up  through  his  spectacles  from  among  a  huge 
pile  of  books  with  which  he  was  partly  surrounded,  and  to 
which  it  would  seem  he  made  frequent  reference,  as  many 
of  them  were  lying  open.  Before  him  was  a  table  strewn 
with  manuscripts,  and  in  his  hand  a  pen,  which,  as  he  care- 
lessly nodded  Edgar  to  a  seat,  he  dipped  in  ink,  and  com- 
menced writing  with  great  vigor  and  haste.  For  some- 
thing like  five  minutes,  he  neither  looked  up  nor  spoke ; 
and  Edgar,  fancying  himself  an  unwelcome  intruder,  at 
last  rose  to  take  his  leave,  when  the  other,  motioning  with 
his  hand  for  him  to  be  seated,  said  hurriedly : 

"  In  a  moment,  sir." 

Edgar  sat  down  again,  but  found  the  moment  of  another 
five  minutes'  duration ;  and  picking  up  a  huge  volume  by 
his  side,  he  was  fast  becoming  interested  in  a  statute  on 
forgery — for  the  books  were  those  of  the  law — when  the 
gentleman,  putting  down  his  pen,  moving  back  his  chair, 
and  slipping  up  his  spectacles,  said : 

"Now,  sir,  I  am  at  your  service." 
11* 


130  THE   FORGED   "WILL. 

"  I  beg  pardon  for  intruding  upon  you  wljile  so  busy," 
began  Edgar ;  "  but  seeing  this  advertisement,  (pointing 
to  it)  I  thought  I  would  answer  it." 

"  What !"  cried  Morton,  his  whole  manner  and  expres- 
sion changing  from  a  cold  business  air  to  one  of  eager, 
delighted  surprise,  "  are  you  the  young  man  who  so  nobly 
saved  the  life  of  my  dear  daughter  Edith?" 

"  Of  that,"  said  Edgar,  "I  am  not  certain,  and  you  may 
mean  another.  I  saw  a  lady  in  danger,  however,  from  a 
runaway  horse ;  and  thinking  it  possible  to  save  her,  I 
stepped  forward,  knocked  the  animal  down,  and,  as  she 
was  thrown,  caught  her  in  my  arms." 

"It  was  you,  then!"  cried  Morton,  starting  up,  and 
seizing  Edgar  by  the  hand,  which  he  shook  long  and 
heartily.  "  God  bless  you,  sir,  for  the  deed  !  God  bless 
you !  I  say — and  I  mean  it.  But  for  you,  I  should  now 

be  childless,  and  then,  oh ! But  I  will  not  think 

of  that.  Come,  come — let  us  to  the  parlor,  and  Edith 
shall  thank  you  in  person." 

"I  pray  you  excuse  me,"  said  Edgar,  coloring ;  "  for  you 
see  I  am  hardly  in  fit  condition  to  enter  a  lady's  pre- 
sence ;"  and  he  glanced  wofully  over  his  well-worn,  faded 
garments. 

"  Poh !  poh !  young  man — don't  talk  to  me  of  dress. 
Look  at  me,  sir !  Mine  is  but  little,  if  any,  better  than 
yours.  Dress  is  nothing,  sir — nothing ;  a  mere  tailor  can 
make  that.  The  mind,  sir — the  mind — the  soul — is  every 
thing :  that  is  the  jewel  to  look  to,  and  that  is  of  God's 
manufacture.  But  come  with  me — come!  Bid  I  hear 
your  name  ?" 

"Edgar  Courtly." 

"  And  a  fine  name  it  is,  too.  I  once  did  some  business 
for  a  namesake  of  yours,  and  found  him  a  perfect  gentle- 


REWARD   OF   DARING.  131 

man.  Perhaps  some  relation  !  He  was  from  Baltimore, 
and  his  Christian  name  Ethan." 

My  father  !"  exclaimed  Edgar,  with  a  start  of  surprise. 

"  Your  father  !"  rejoined  the  other,  in  equal  astonish- 
ment. "  God  bless  you  !  you  come  of  good  stock.  But 
fortune  changes,  I  see,"  he  added,  glancing  at  Edgar's 
faded  garments.  "  When  I  knew  your  father,  he  was  rich. 
How  fares  he  now?" 

"Alas,  sir,  he  *has  been  five  years  dead!"  answered 
Edgar,  mournfully. 

"  Ah  !  indeed  ! — sorry  to  hear  it.  He  was  a  gentleman, 
every  inch  of  him.  And  your  mother  ?" 

"  She — she  too — is — is  dead,"  said  Edgar,  vainly  striving 
to  suppress  the  tears  that  came  bursting  through  his  eye- 
lids. "  My  father  died  worth  near  a  million — my  mother 
starved  to  death  in  a  land  of  plenty." 

"Starved,  say  you,  Mr.  Courtly?  Good  Heaven!  I 
trust  not  starved  ?" 

"  Ay,  Mr.  Morton,  starved,  and  in  this  very  city.  But 
wo  to  them  that  did  it — for  so  sure  as  there  is  a  God  in 
heaven,  their  damnable  deeds  shall  recoil  upon  their  guilty 
heads,  even  to  the  third  and  fourth  generation  !" 

"  Of  whom  do  you  speak,  Mr.  Courtly  ?  Has  wrong 
been  done  you?" 

"  Ay,  sir,  the  foulest !  But  come,  you  knew  my  father, 
you  seem  to  take  an  interest  in  my  fate,  and,  to  make  us 
better  acquainted,  I  will  give  you  a  sketch  of  my  history." 

"Do  so — you  could  not  confer  a  greater  pleasure," 
returned  Morton. 

By  this  time  the  two  had  reached  the  parlor,  and  taking 
seats,  Edgar  at  once  proceeded  to  sketch  the  most  promi- 
nent events  of  his  past  life,  not  overlooking  the  villainy  of 
his  uncle. 

"  Great  Heaven  !  how  much  you  have  suffered !"  ejacu 


132  THE   FORGED   WILL. 

lated  Morton,  as  the  other  paused.  "  And  no  one  left  but 
yourself  and  sister,  and  you  almost  starving  !  Well,  well, 
thank  God!  I  have  enough;  and  while  Calvin  Morton 
lives,  you  shall  not  need  a  friend.  But  who  is  this  base 
uncle  ?  and  where  can  he  be  found  ?  The  miscreant !  he 
shall  be  exposed,  let  him  be  whom  he  may,  if  such  a  thing 
be  in  my  power." 

"  And  yet,"  rejoined  Edgar,  "  should  I  tell  you  his  name, 
you  would  be  tempted  to  discredit  my  s'tory." 

"  Not  I,  in  faith,"  said  Morton  ;  "  for  your  story  comes 
too  much  from  the  heart  to  be  an  imposition.  I  have  seen 
and  studied  too  much  of  human  nature,  I  fancy,  to  be 
easily  deceived.' 

"  What  say  you,  then,  to  Oliver  Atherton  !" 

Had  a  bolt  of  lightning  at  that  moment  descended  from 
the  heavens  and  torn  up  the  ground  beneath  his  feet, 
Morton  would  scarcely  have  exhibited  greater  astonishment 
and  dismay  than  at  this  simple  announcement. 

"Oliver  Atherton?"  he  exclaimed.  "No,  no,  Mr. 
Courtly — there  must  be  some  mistake ! — for  he,  I  assure 
you,  bears  a  stainless  reputation,  and  is  one  of  our  most 
opulent  citizens." 

"  If  there  is  any  mistake,"  said  Edgar,  "  it  must  be  on 
your  part,  in  not  knowing  him  so  well  as  I.  But  I  here 
tell  you,  under  oath  if  you  like,  that  noble,  and  rich,  and 
stainless  in  reputation,  as  he  is,  it  was  Oliver  Atherton 
who  took  possession  of  my  father's  property,  and  afterward? 
denied  his  own  sister,  refusing  her  money  to  buy  food,  even 
when  she  was  dying  of  starvation." 

"Be  this  so,  may  God's  curses  light  upon  him!"  said 
Morton,  a  good  deal  excited. 

"And  they  will — on  him  and  his — sooner  or  later," 
returned  Edgar.  "All  things  find  their  level  at  last." 

"And  my  Edith  is  as  good  as  engaged  to  his  son." 


REWARD  OF   DARING.  133 

"  To  Acton !"  cried  Edgar. 

"  The  same." 

"  Then  as  you  love  your  daughter,  forbid  the  banns,  and 
all  further  intercourse — for  he  is  a  villain  of  but  little 
remove  from  the  blackness  of  his  father.  Now  I  see  it  all ; 
and  it  was  to  this  lady  Ellen  alluded,  when  he  said  he 
should  never  marry  her,"  continued  Edgar,  as  if  to  him- 
self; "  and  it  was  she,  then,  I  saw  at  the  door !  She  came 
to  warn  Edith;  and  no  wonder  she  was  agitated,  poor 
girl!" 

"  Of  whom  are  you  speaking,  Mr.  Courtly?" 

"  Of  the  victim  of  Acton  Atherton — poor  Ellen  Douglas !" 
answered  Edgar;  "  of  her  who  so  generously  supplied  me 
with  money,  when  my  mother  lay  a  corpse,  and  her  living 
children  had  not  wherewithal  to  keep  them  long  from  joining 
her ;  of  one  who  has  been  most  foully,  most  damnably 
wronged!"  and  Edgar  proceeded  to  detail  what  he  knew 
of  Ellen  and  her  seducer. 

"  And  this  is  the  man  that  aspires  to  the  hand  of  my 
daughter  !"  said  Morton,  when  Edgar  had  done.  "  0,  the 
scoundrel !  But  his  cause  here  is  hopeless.  Edith  shall 
know  all ;  and  if  you  have  told  me  true,  which  I  believe, 
she  shall  spurn  him  hence  as  a  worthless  dog.  But  speaking 
of  Edith,  reminds  me  you  have  not  seen  her  to  receive  her 
grateful  thanks.  Excuse  my  neglect ;  but  so  taken  up  was 
I  with  your  story,  I  forgot  all  else;"  and  as  he  spoke,  he 
rung  a  bell. 

"Bid  my  daughter  and  her  mother  come  hither  at 
once,"  he  said  to  the  servant;  and  scarcely  three  minutes 
elapsed,  ere  the  door  opened,  and  Mrs.  Morton,  followed 
by  Edith,  entered. 

The  former  was  a  fine,  matronly-looking  lady  of  forty, 
with  nothing  to  distinguish  her,  unless  it  was  a  mild,  sweet, 
benevolent  expression,  which  lingered  on  her  open  features 


134  THE   FORGED   WILL. 

as  naturally  as  sunlight  upon  a  flower,  and  inspired  the 
beholder  at  once  with  confidence  and  pleasure. 

But  the  countenance  of  Edith  was  marked — not  so  much 
with  the  strong  lines  of  light  and  shade,  which  the  artist 
readily  seizes  and  transfers  to  canvas,  as  with  the  expres- 
sion of  intellect  and  nobleness  of  soul  that  was  every  where 
visible,  but  more  especially  in  her  soft,  gray  eyes,  which 
sweetly  beamed  through  their  long  lashes,  like  the  sun  of 
an  unclouded  summer's  morn  gently  struggling  through  a 
grove  of  weeping  willows.  Not  a  feature  but  was  perfectly 
moulded ;  and  yet  not  on  one,  nor  on  all  combined,  could  you 
fix  the  beauty  which  you  acknowledged  as  both  triumphant 
and  charming.  Chisel  them  in  marble,  let  the  soul  be 
wanting,  and  they  would  be  but  marble  still,  as  unattractive 
as  tne  face  of  a  doll;  but  light  them  with  the  intellect 
they  now  displayed,  and  they  spoke  to  you  more  eloquently 
than  the  tongue  of  an  orator.  Around  a  face  of  classic 
mould,  and  over  a  beautifiil  neck  of  alabaster  whiteness, 
that  rounded  off  a  swelling  bust,  floated  a  mass  of  golden 
ringlets,  less  the  work  of  art  than  nature.  A  dimpled 
hand  and  form  of  airy  lightness,  elastic  with  the  fresh 
vigor  of  seventeen  summers,  made  Edith  Morton  an  object 
not  to  be  lightly  passed  over  by  one  susceptible  of  woman's 
charms. 

And  such  an  one  was  our  hero,  who,  as  at  a  single  glance 
he  took  in  all  we  have  described,  felt  his  frame  thrill  with 
an  emotion  to  which  he  had  hitherto  been  a  stranger.  For  a 
moment,  as  she  entered,  his  eyes  encountered  hers ;  and 
then  his  gaze  instantly  dropped  to  the  ground ;  and  for  the 
first  time,  perhaps,  in  his  life,  he  felt  really  embarrassed  in 
the  presence  of  a  lady.  He  could  not  but  remember  now, 
with  a  feeling  of  pride  he  had  not  before  experienced,  it  was 
this  lovely  being's  life  he  had  saved — that  to  him  she  owed 
the  sweetest  of  all  debts,  the  gratitude  of  a  grateful  heart. 


REWARD  OF  DARING.  135 

"  My  wife  and  daughter,"  spoke  Morton,  "  allow  me  to 
present  to  you  Edgar  Courtly,  the  noble  young  man  to 
whom  Edith  is  indebted  for  her  life." 

"  Indeed,  sir,  was  it  you  ?"  said  Mrs.  Morton,  seizing 
both  the  hands  of  Edgar  in  her  own,  and  pressing  them 
warmly.  "  May  Heaven  bless  you,  young  man,  for  the 
heroic  deed!  Here,  Edith,  come  and  thank  him !" 

"I  do,  mother,"  returned  Edith,  approaching  and 
modestly  extending  her  hand  to  Edgar,  who  took  it  in  one, 
that,  in  spite  of  himself,  trembled :  "  1  do  thank  him,  from, 
my  very  soul." 

Her  eyes,  as  she  spoke,  were  looking  sweetly  into  his ; 
but  from  some  cause,  as  she  concluded,  they  sunk  toward 
the  ground,  and  a  bright  tint  heightened  the  beauty  of 
her  cheeks.  Edgar  would  have  given  the  world  to  speak 
freely ;  but  somehow  his  tongue,  at  all  other  times  an  obe- 
dient member,  now  clove  to  his  mouth ;  and  it  was  not 
till  after  two  or  three  vain  attempts^  he  managed  to  articu- 
late, in  a  tremulous  voice  : 

"I  did  but  my  duty." 

"  So  say  all  high  minded  persons,  when  they  do  a  noble 
act,"  rejoined  Mr.  Morton  ;  "  but  the- obligation  is  none  the 
less  binding  on  our  part,  that  you  are  pleased  to  consider 
the  matter  in  so  modest  a  light.  Eh !  Edith,  what  think 

you?" 

"  That  I  shall  never  be  able  to  repay  Mr.  Courtly  for 
what  he  terms  a  simple  act  of  duty." 

"  Not  so,  Miss  Morton ;  I  am  repaid  already,  a  thousand 
times — ay,  even  were  my  claim  to  your  gratitude  a  thou- 
sand times  greater  than  it  is,"  returned  Edgar,  with  an 
earnestness  of  tone  and  manner  that  again  brought  the 
bright  crimson  to  the  lovely  face  of  Edith,  and  made  his 
own  blush  correspondingly. 

"  As  the  preserver  of  my  life,  at  the  risk  of  your  own,  I 


136  THE  FORGED  WILL. 

can  never  cease  to  remember  you  with  gratitude."  rejoined 
Edith,  in  a  voice  full  of  music  to  the  soul  of  Edgar,  accom- 
panied as  it  was  with  a  sweet  but  modest  smile. 

"  Who  would  not,"  he  thought  to  himself,  "have  done  as 
much  for  a  like  reward  ?" 

"  To  cut  matters  short,  and  end  any  thing  like  formality," 
joined  in  Mr.  Morton,  "you  must  know,  Edgar — excuse  the 
familiarity  I  take  with  your  Christian  name — that  we  all 
feel  ourselves  under  the  deepest  obligations  to  you,  and  will 
do  all  in  our  power  to  cancel  the  debt.  Look  upon  this 
house,  sir,  as  your  home,  and  to  me  for  any  assistance  you 
may  need." 

The  earnest  manner  in  which  this  was  spoken,  showed 
Edgar,  conclusively,  the  speaker  was  sincere ;  and  so 
affected  him,  that  the  tears  sprung  to  his  eyes,  and  it  was 
with  difficulty,  as  he  grasped  the  other's  proffered  hand  of 
friendship,  he  could  articulate : 

"God  bless  you !  Hot  through  you  my  day  seems  dawning 
once  more." 

"  Ah,  poor  ryouth,  God  grant  it ! — for  it  is  high  time, 
methinks,  it  dawned  again  to  you.  Yours  has  indeed  been 
a  stormy  night  of  wretchedness.  And  your  poor  sister — 
Heaven  pardon  me  !  I  had  almost  forgotten  her — bring  her 
here,  and  she  shall  have  a  home  and  be  as  my  daughter." 

"You  overwhelm  me,"  returned  Edgar,  tremulously, 
brushing  away  an  obdurate  tear. 

"Have  you  then  a  sister?"  cried  Edith,  eagerly.  "  0, 
by  all  means,  bring  her  here  !  for  I  know  I  shall  love  her 
so." 

"Ay,  do,  Mr.  Courtly,  do  !"  chimed  in  Mrs.  Morton. 
"  Edith  has  often  wished  for  a  sister,  and  yours  shall  be 
hers." 

"  And,  mother,  we  will  send  the  carriage  for  her  at  once," 
pursued  Edith,  with  an  expression  of  heart-felt  eagerness- 


REWARD  OF  DARING.  137 

"  0,  I  am  so  anxious  to  see  her !     Ring,  father,  for  the 
coachman!" 

"  Nay,  I  would  that  you  let  me  prepare  my  sister  first," 
interposed  Edgar  gently.  "  To-morrow,  if  so  you  desire  it, 
I  will  conduct  her  hither  myself." 

"We  must  perforce  wait  your  pleasure,"  smiled  Edith  ; 
«'  though  the  sooner  you  hring  her,  the  better  I  shall  be 
pleased.  Does  she  resemble  you  ?"  she  inquired  naively. 

"There  is,  some  say,  a  slight  resemblance,"  replied 
Edgar ;  "  but  in  justice  to  dear  Virginia,  I  must  own  she 
is  younger  and  far  the  best  looking." 

Edith  looked  as  though  she  thought  the  latter  impossible  ; 
but  simply  said,  in  an  artless  tone,  that  again  brought  the 
blood  to  Edgar's  cheek : 

"  0,  I  know  I  shall  love  her.  Virginia !  what  a  sweet, 
beautiful  name  !" 

Edgar  just  then  thought  Edith  full  as  sweet. 

In  the  like  manner  the  conversation  proceeded  for  half 
an  hour,  when  Mr.  Morton,  on  the  plea  of  business,  recon- 
ducted  Edgar  to  the  library.  As  the  latter  took  leave  of 
the  ladies,  both  Mrs.  Morton  and  Edith  pressed  him  warmly 
to  tarry  for  dinner,  and  made  Mr.  Morton  promise  to  do 
his  best  to  detain  him.  What  a  wonderful  change  a  little 
time  had  wrought  in  the  condition  and  feelings  of  Edgar.  An 
hour  before  he  was  an  object  for  commiseration,  and  felt  too 
wretched  to  exist.  Now  he  was  surrounded  by  influential 
friends,  and  would  not  have  exchanged  places  with  the 
proudest  monarch.  0,  uncertain  life  !  0,  vacillating  human 
nature !  We  are  but  puny  chess  men,  changed  at  the  will 
of  the  Great  Player,  and  are  much  or  nothing,  according 
to  our  position  in  relation  to  one  another. 

"Edgar  Courtly,"  said  Mr.  Morton,  abruptly,  as  they 
entered  the  library,  "there  is  something  about  you  I  like." 

"  Thank  you,"  returned  Edgar,  coloring. 
12 


138  THE  FORGED  WILL. 

"  Stop !  no  thanks,  sir ! — at  least  none  for  me — for  1 
•want  nothing  but  what  is  my  own ;  and  thanks  for  liking 
you,  is  much  like  thanking  a  man  to  eat  a  good  dinner  at 
your  expense.  No,  Edgar ;  if  you  thank  any  body,  thank 
God,  for  having  made  you  what  you  are — one  of  his  noblest 
works.  There,  stop,  now — don't  interrupt  me  !"  he  con- 
tinued, as  he  saw  Edgar,  about  to  make  reply.  "  Don't 
interrupt  me,  I  repeat !  for  I  am  a  singular  man,  and  like 
to  say  what  I  think  without  hindrance  or  contradiction. 
It  is  seldom  I  tell  a  man  I  like  him,  for  I  see  very  few  I 
can  say  thus  to  and  speak  the  truth,  and  it  is  my  rule  to 
speak  nothing  but  what  I  mean.  But  a  truce  to  this.  I 
have  no  time  to  spare ;  as  an  important  case,  which  comes 
on  in  two  days,  requires  all  my  time  and  closest  attention. 
To  be  brief,  then,  what  can  I  do  for  you  ?" 

"  A  thousand  thanks  for  your  offer !  but  I  require 
nothing  at  present." 

"  You  seemed  annoyed  at  the  appearance  of  your  dress, 
when  I  first  invited  you  to  join  the  ladies.  You  are  a 
young  man,  have  your  fortune  to  make,  and  I  appreciate 
your  feelings — for  dress,  in  the  eyes  of  the  world,  is  every 
thing.  Here  is  a  check  for  fifty  dollars." 

"  No,  Mr.  Morton,  a  thousand  thanks  for  your  gene- 
rosity !  but  I  will  accept  nothing,  unless  you  show  me  a 
way  to  earn  it  first." 

"  Rightly  spoken,  like  a  noble  spirited  youth !  You 
would  make  a  capital  lawyer  methinks.  What  say  you  to 
the  profession  ?" 

"  It  is  precisely  to  my  mind." 

"  Will  you  take  me  for  a  tutor  ?" 

"  The  very  favor  I  would  have  asked." 

"  Enough !  Consider  the  matter  settled.  I  can  pay 
you  what  salary  I  please,  you  know.  Come  to-morrow, 


REWARD   OF   DARING.  139 

sir,  and  bring  your  sister,  and  I  will  put  you  to  the  task. 
Shall  I  see  you  at  dinner  ?" 

"Not  to-day,  as  my  sister  would  be  uneasy  at  my 
absence." 

"I  shall  see  you  to-morrow,  then?" 

"  God  willing,  you  will." 

"  Will  you  accept  this  money  in  advance  ?" 

"  Not  to-day,  I  thank  you  !" 

"  And  so  Oliver  Atherton  is  the  uncle  who  so  basely 
used  you !"  he  said,  musingly,  making  an  abrupt  change 
to  the  subject  that, now  bore  upon  his  mind.  "Ay! 
ay!  I  must  look  to  this — I  must  look  to  this.  If  I 
can  get  any  hold  upon  him,  friend  Edgar,  you  shall 
have  justice.  And  Acton  is  a  villain,  too  !  So,  so — this 
shall  be  attended  to.  To-morrow  I  shall  look  for  you 
early.  Good  morning,  sir — good  morning,  Edgar !"  and 
turning  quickly  away,  the  lawyer  resumed  his  writing, 
without  deigning  even  another  look  at  his  visiter. 

As  Edgar  quitted  the  mansion  and  slowly  took  his  way 
homeward,  he  mused,  with  a  lightened  heart,  upon  the 
events  we  have  just  described — upon  the  curious  chain  of 
circumstances  which  had  so  suddenly  placed  him  on  terms 
of  intimacy  with  one  of  the  most  opulent  families  of 
the  city — upon  the  striking  contrast  between  him  he  had 
just  parted  from  and  his  own  uncle — but,  most  of  all,  upon 
the  sweetly  smiling  countenance,  the  light  and  sylph-like 
form,  and  the  soft,  melodious  voice  of  the  fair  and  lovely 
Edith  Morton. 


CHAPTER   XII. 

FORTUNE   STILL  PROPITIOUS. 

BUT  the  happy  termination  of  his  visit  to  the  Mortons, 
was  not  the  only  high  favor  Edgar  was  that  morning  des- 
tined to  receive  from  the  hands  of  capricious  fortune. 
Scarcely  had  he  proceeded  half  a  dozen  squares,  when,  as 
chance  would  have  it,  he  met  with  Dudley. 

"The  very  person  I  desired  to  see,"  said  the  latter, 
with  a  cordial  shake  of  the  hand.  "  I  was  even  now  on 
my  way  to  your  dwelling." 

"Happily  met,  then,"  replied  Edgar,  "for  I  am  home- 
ward bound;"  and  joining  arms,  the  two  proceeded  on 
their  way. 

After  some  casual  remarks  on  unimportant  topics,  Dud- 
ley said : 

"  Pardon  me,  Mr.  Courtly — but  may  I  inquire  how  you 
succeeded  in  the  matter  you  had  in  view  when  last  I  saw 
you,  as  regards  pecuniary  recompense  ?" 

"It  proved  an  entire  failure,"  answered  Edgar. 

"  Then,  my  friend,  if  you  will  allow  me  so  to  call  you,  I 
am  both  grieved  and  rejoiced  at  the  same  time — grieved, 
that  you  should  have -been  disappointed — rejoiced,  that  I 
have  it  in  my  power  to  assist  you.  Since  I  saw  you  I 
have  thought  of  you  much,  and  of  your  sister  also,  and 
have  puzzled  my  brain  no  little  as  .to  how  I  could  be  of 
service  to  you  and  not  wound  your  sensitive  feelings. 
Now  the  case  is  this ;  one  of  my  warmest  friends  is  a 
young  man  named  Clarence  Malcolm,  who  is  rich  in  this 
(140) 


FORTUNE   STILL  PROPITIOUS.  141 

world's  goods,  and,  what  is  perhaps  somewhat  rare,  as 
benevolent  as  he  is  wealthy.  All  that  I  know  is  known  to 
him,  and  vice  versa,  for  our  minds  are  as  one  mind,  and 
consequently  your  history  has  been  stated  to  him,  exactly 
as  to  myself.  The  result  is,  that  he  desires  me  to  entreat 
you  to  accept  this  as  a  loan,  until  such  time  as  you  may 
feel  yourself  able  to  return  it  without  the  least  inconveni- 
ence." 

As  he  spoke  Dudley  extended  to  Edgar  a  small  purse 
of  gold,  which  the  latter  gently  waved  back,  saying : 

Be  so  kind  as  to  return  Clarence  Malcolm,  whom  I 
have  never  seen,  my  warmest  thanks,  and  tell  him  I  do 
not  feel  myself  in  a  condition  at  present  to  borrow,  even 
on  his  own  generous  terms.  I  have  already  refused  a  kind 
offer  this  morning,  simply  because  my  pride  revolted  at 
the  idea  of  taking  money  to  which  I  had  no  claim.  I  have 
never  borrowed  but  once,  and  then  most  stern  necessity 
forced  me  against  my  will.  Let  me  have  a  chance  to 
return  an  equivalent  in  the  shape  of  labor,  either  mentally 
or  physically,  and  I  will  accept  the  money  with  pleasure — 
but  on  no  other  conditions." 

Dudley  seemed  both  pleased  and  displeased  at  this 
answer. 

"  I  admire  both  your  spirit  and  principle,"  he  said,  after 
musing  a  short  time ;  "  but  still  would  be  better  satisfied  to 
have  you  accept  my  offer  without  further  parley.  To 
speak  candidly,  I  think  you  a  little  too  scrupulous — though, 
if  placed  in  your  situation,  I  should,  in  all  probability,  do 
precisely  the  same ;  and  this,  by  the  way,  happily  illus- 
trates the  principle,  that  we  often  preach  what  we  never 
practise.  You  spoke  of  mental  labor — am  I  to  understand 
you  compose  ?" 

"  I  have  done  a  trifle  in  that  way,"  answered  Edgar, 
modestly,  "though  nothing  worthy  of  notice." 
12* 


142  THE   FORGED  WILL. 

"  Indeed  !"  exclaimed  the  other,  brightening  with  a  new 
thought ;  "  I  am  pleased  to  learn  you  write  at  all.  Poetry 
or  prose  ?" 

"The  former  has  been  my  choice,  and  consequently 
most  of  lay  execution,  though  the  latter  has  come  in  for  a 
trifling  share." 

"  Have  you  ever  published  ?" 

"Never." 

"And  why?" 

"  Because  my  productions  are  unworthy." 

"  And  for  the  very  reason  you  think  so,  I  will  wager 
they  are  worthy  some  of  our  best  poets.  True  merit, 
friend  Edgar,  is  always  modest,  for  it  requires  no  ordinary 
talent  to  perceive  our  own  defects.  By  the  way,  would 
you  like  to  see  your  productions  in  print  ?" 

"Why,"  hesitated  Edgar,  "  if  of  sufficient  merit." 

"  I  will  venture  that,  and  yet  have  never  seen  a  line  from 
your  pen.  Come,  I  will  bargain  with  you.  Will  you 
sell  what  poems  you  have  on  hand?" 

"  But  they  are  worthless,  I  tell  you." 

"  That  is  not  answering  my  question.  Will  you  sell  ? 
Come,  do  not  hesitate !  I  have  a  speculation  in  view,  of 
which  I  will  tell  you  nothing  now,  save  that  to  complete  it 
I  must  purchase  your  poems.  Come,  what  say  you  ?  I 
will  give  a  hundred  dollars  for  what  you  have  on  hand." 

"  You  flatter  me,  Mr.  Dudley,"  returned  Edgar,  some- 
what staggered  at  the  offer ;  "  but  really,  I  cannot  take 
Buch  advantage  of  your  generosity." 

"  Never  look  for  generosity  in  a  bargain,  Mr.  Courtly ; 
for  both  buyer  and  seller,  considering  their  shrewdness  at 
stake,  will  give  nothing  then,  lest  the  one  boast  of  his 
cunning  in  overreaching  the  other.  In  a  gift  there  is 
generosity — but  none  in  a  trade ;  so  set  your  mind  at  rest 
on  that  score,  and  consider  whether  you  are  willing  to  take 


FORTUNE    STILL    PROPITIOUS.  143 

the  paltry  sum  of  a  hundred  dollars  for  your  productions. 
Of  one  thing  rest  assured — that  I  have  an  object  in  buying ; 
and  that  J,  for  one,  shall  be  perfectly  satisfied,  provided 
you  think  I  have  not  underpaid  you.  Say,  is  it  a  bargain  ? — 
or  shall  I  give  more  ?" 

"Why,  since  you  press  me,"  replied  Edgar,  "and  since 
I  so  sorely  need^the  money,  they  are  yours,  on  condition 
you  find  them  not  so  good  as  you  expected,  you  will  con- 
sider yourself  under  no  obligation  to  take  them." 

"I  accept  your  offer,"  returned  Dudley,  with  a  gleam  of/ 
delight.     "Now,  sWeast,"  he  added  mentally,  "I  have 
the  means  of  forcing  money  upon  him  without  wounding 
his  sensitive  feelings."  Then  he  continued  aloud  :   "  By-tlue1 
by,  how  would  you  like  to  take  charge  of  a  magazine  or  80 
newspaper?" 

"Were  I  deemed  competent,  and  the  proposition  had 
been  made  me  a  few  hours  ago,  nothing  would  have  pleased 
me  better,"  answered  Edgar;  "but  now  I  hold  myself  par- 
tially engaged  to  Calvin  Morton." 

"  Indeed !"  exclaimed  Dudley,  in  a  tone  of  surprise. 
"  If  to  read  law,  you  are  most  fortunate ;  for  he  stands  the 
very  first  in  his  profession ;  and  is,  besides,  a  gentleman  of 
the  right  school.'* 

"  You  know  him,  then  ?" 

"  Better  than  I  know  you." 

"You  seem  in  fact  to  know  every  one." 

"  You  must  bear  in  mind,  I  am  a  native  of  the  city — have 
lived  here  all  my  days — have  mingled  no  little  in  society, 
and  consequently  have  been  brought  in  contact  with  nearly 
all  the  old  citizens.  But  truly,  I  am  delighted  at  jour 
prospects ;  for  very  few  have  the  honor  and  good  fortune 
to  read  law  under  the  tuition  of  Calvin  Morton.  I  am 
curious  to  know  by  what  means  you  effected  the  arrange- 
ment." 


144  THE   FORGED   WILL. 

Edgar  at  once  proceeded  to  narrate  the  Circumstance 
•which  had  led  to  this  result.  As  he  Cteeladted,  Dudley 
grasped  his  hand  and  shook  it  heartily. 

"  Let  me  congratulate  you,"  he  said,  "  on  a  fortune  in 
prospective ;  for  you  have  put  one  under  obligations  who 
will  never  rest  content  till  he  has  seen  you  on  the  high  road 
to  wealth  and  renown.  Calvin  Morton  is  a  very  singular 
man.  He  seldom  forgives  an  injury  or  insult — he  never 
forgets  a  favor,  no  matter  how  trivial.  With  him  there  is 
no  half  way.  He  loves  or  he  hates.  Unlike  what  you 
represent  your  uncle,  there  is  no^ussembling.  As  a 
general  thing,  what  he  thinks  he  says,  and  what  he  says 
he  means.  And  as  to  his  daughter,  the  fair  Edith,  a 
SAveeter  creature  does  not  live.  What !  Hushing,  eh  !  So, 
so — then  you  readily  believe  all  I  can  say  of  her,  I  see. 
Well,  I  must  repeat,  I  think  you  very,  very  fortunate. 
Speaking  of  your  uncle,  reminds  me  that  Clarence, 
who  visits  there  occasionally,  has  promised  to  sift  the 
matter  regarding  what  you  told  me,  to  the  very  bottom  ; 
and  if  he  can  prove  he  has  acted  basely,  he  will  expose  his 
hypocrisy,  and  hold  him  up  to  the  scorn  of  all  honest 
men." 

Conversing  thus,  Edgar  and  Dudley  at  last  reached  the 
abode  of  the  former.  Virginia,  as  Edgar  entered  in  ad- 
vance of  his  friend,  at  once  flew  to  embrace  him ;  but  on 
perceiving  who  followed,  she  paused,  blushed,  and  in  an 
embarrassed  manner,  while  she  timidly  proffered  her  hand, 
said: 

"  You  have  taken  me  by  surprise,  Mr.  Dudley:  I  thought 
Edgar  was  alone."' 

"  Let  me  hope  the  surprise  does  not  prove  a  disagreeable 
one!"  returned  Dudley,  earnestly,  with  a  flushed  coun- 
tenance. 

"  0,  no,  no !"  rejoined  Virginia,  with  sudden  energy, 


FORTUNE   STILL   PROPITIOUS.  145 

looking  full  in  the  face  of  her  guest ;  and  then  immediately 
added,  letting  jier  gaze  sink  modestly  to  the  ground ;  "  The 
friends  of  my  brother  are  always  welcome." 

"  I  trust,"  rejoined  Dudley,  in  a  low  bland  tone,  "  I 
may  be  considered  the  friend  of  both !" 

Virginia  embarrassed,  did  not  reply,  though  evidently 
desirous  to  do  so,  .which  Edgar  perceiving,  quickly  came 
to  her  aid,  by  sa^hg : 

We  are  both  proud,  I  assure  you,  Mr.  Dudley,  of  your 
disinterested  friendship — for  disinterested  it  is,  since  we 
have  all  and  you  nothing  to  gain  by  it." 

"  Ah,  my  dear  friend,  you  mistake  entirely,"  responded 
Dudley,  with  a  smile,  "in  supposing  there  can  be  such  a 
thing  as  disinterested  friendship.  Whatever  gratifies, 
interests  us ;  and  where  either  our  pride,  vanity,  sympathies, 
or  more  common  place  feelings  are  enlisted,  we  cannot  be 
wholly  disinterested.  It  is  a  prevalent  idea,  that  when 
one  performs  a  noble  act  and  conceals  it  from  the  world, 
he  does  it  through  disinterested  motives.  But  it  is  not  so, 
His  self-approving  conscience  is  his  reward ;  and  that  kind 
of  reward  being  what  he  seeks,  and  of  more  gratification  to 
him  than  the  world's  applause,  becomes  the  motive  incentive 
to  action.  In  friendship,  especially  there  is  self  to  gratify 
on  both  sides ;  for  where  self  is  not  enlisted,  there  can  be 
no  interest ;  where  interest  is  wanting,  there  must  be  indif- 
ference ;  and  where  is  indifference,,  there  can  be  no  friend- 
ship. We  may  call  friendship  disinterested,  to  distinguish 
it  from  the  seeming  friendship  of  base  self-interest — which 
latter,  in  my  opinion,  is  unworthy  the  ennobling  name  of 
the  former — though  even  in  the  purest  of 'the  former,  if  we 
look  into  it  closely,  we  shall  find  self  the  basis  on  which 
the  fabric  is  reared.  But  I  am  running  into  dissertation, 
where  I  only  intended  a  simple  explanation,  and  so  will 
conclude  ere  I  tax  your  patience  too  far." 


146  THE   FORGED   WILL. 

But  on  such  and  similar  topics  Edgar  never  wearied  of 
conversing ;  and  the  two  friends  continued  in  a  pleasant 
discussion  for  more  than  an  hour,  gradually  passing  from  one 
subject  to  another,  as  each  was  suggested  by  a  continuous 
train  of  ideas. 

Virginia,  though  for  the  most  part  silent,  occasionally 
joined  in  and  expressed  her  views,  in  a  manner  that  both 
surprised  and  pleased  her  guest,  who  acknowledged  to 
himself  he  had  not  before  given  her  credit  for  one-half  the 
mind  she  really  possessed.  Her  remarks  were  ever  terse, 
concise,  and  to  the  point ;  and  what  was  still  further  evi- 
dence of  good  judgment,  were  always  well-timed;  and 
Dudley,  discovering  all  this  with  delight,  could  not  but 
admire  her  and  admit  to  himself  she  was  one  of  the  most 
lovely,  intelligent  and  fascinating  of  her  sex — certainly  a 
great  deal  to  be  admitted  by  one  who  had  seen  so  much  of 
intellectual  society,  in  favor  of  one  he  now  beheld  for  the 
second  time. 

And  how  was  it  with  Virginia  ?  She  gazed  upon  the 
handsome  countenance  of  Dudley,  she  listened  to  the  full, 
rich,  melody  of  his  voice,  and  marked  the  lofty  and  not 
unfrequently  poetical  and  original  sentiment  which  flowed 
from  his  lips,  with  feelings  both  new  and  strange  to  her — 
the  while  she  took  no  note  of  Time,  who,  casting  aside  his 
glass,  and  renewing  his  youth  for  the  nonce,  now  flew  by 
on  the  wings  of  lightning. 

Passing  from  one  thing  to  another,  the  conversation  at 
last  turned  upon  poetry,  a  theme  with  which  all  were 
familiar,  and  in  which  all  were  alike  interested. 

"  0,  above  all  things,  do  I  love  poetry !"  said  Virginia, 
with  enthusiasm :  and  then  she  added,  a  moment  after,  iu 
a  faltering  tone,  vainly  struggling  to  suppress  her  emotion  : 
"  And  so  did  our  poor,  dear  mother." 

For  a  short  time  there  was  a  dead  silence ;  and  the  tears 


FORTUNE   STILL   PROPITIOUS.  147 

sprung  from  the  eyes  of  both  Edgar  and  his  sister,  as  they 
thought  upon  her  who  had  so  loved,  but  who  was  forever 
gone  from  among  them.  Even  Dudley  was  much  affected 
at  witnessing  their  silent  grief ;  but  knowing  it  both  useless 
and  detrimental,  since  it  could  not  restore  the  dead  and 
must  impair  the  energies  of  the  living,  he  began,  in  a  mild, 
soothing  tone,  to  console,  and  gradually  lead  their  thoughts 
back  to  their  previous  channel. 

"  We  should  not  mourn  too  much,"  he  said,  "  for  those 
who  have  preceded  us  only  for  a  brief  space  at  the  longest ; 
but  rather  console  ourselves  with  the  thought,  that  earth 
is  not  our  abiding  place,  and  that  we  are  destined  to  meet 
again  in  that  bright  realm  where  the  poetry  of  music  makes 
an  eternal  melody  to  delight  us  forever.  And  speaking  of 
poetry  again — who  among  the  great  masters  of  song  is  your 
favorite,  Edgar  ?" 

"It  is  difficult  for  me  to  say,"  replied  the  latter,  drying 
his  eyes,  "  for  each  is  my  favorite  in  his  particular  sphere. 
When  I  read  Milton,  I  think  none  can  approach  him,  for  he 
is  great  in  sublimity;  and  in  his  masterly  conceptions  of 
what  we  never  saw,  stands  pre-eminent — a  something  enno- 
bled, exalted  and  inspired  far  above  frail  humanity,  and 
almost  beyond  human  comprehension.  I  read  Shakespeare, 
and  feel  he  is  equally  great  in  his  line — that  of  creating 
what  we  have  seen,  and  depicting  all  the  varying  passions 
of  the  human  heart.  I  read  Byron,  and  love  him  for  his 
wild  grandeur  of  thought,  when  he  grapples  with  the  dark 
spirits  of  the  storm,  expands  his  soul  over  the  mighty  relics 
of  the  past,  throws  out  the  sarcasm  of  a  noble  heart  on  the 
villainies  of  a  hollow-hearted  world,  or  portrays,  with  an 
immortal  pen,  the  grandest  scenes  in  nature  -and  art.  I 
delight  in  the  melodies  of  Moore,  for  when  I  drink  hi3 
flowery  thoughts,  I  ever  fancy  myself  reposing  on  a  bed  of 
roses,  beside  some  murmuring  stream,  whose  continual  rip- 


148  THE   FORGED   WILL 

pie  sings  me  to  a  quiet  sleep.  The  argument  and  classic 
beauty  of  Pope  excite  my  admiration,  and  the  poetical 
romance  of  Scott  is  a  source  of  unalloyed  pleasure.  Take 
them  all  in  all,  it  is  impossible  for  me  to  select  my  partic- 
ular favorite ;  for  like  the  dishes  on  a  table  at  a  feast,  we 
needs  must  take .  a  little  of  each,  to  satisfy  our  changing 
desires  and  make  our  repast  complete." 

"You  have  expressed  my  own  views  and  feelings,  as 
regards  the  great  poets,  better  than  I  could  have  done  my- 
eelf,"  rejoined  Dudley,  delightedly.  "And  now  that  I 
have  had  your  opinion,  I  must  see  your  own  composition." 

"Nay,"  said  Edgar,  blushing,  "since  we  have  been 
speaking  of  the  great  masters,  I  am  really  ashamed  to  dis- 
play my  humble  efforts." 

"  You  should  remember,  my  friend,  that  all  were  begin- 
ners once ;  and  that  no  one  could  have  predicted,  from  a 
first  attempt,  that  a  Milton,  a  Shakespeare,  or  a  Byron 
would  follow.  Nature  has  never  produced  what  she  cannot 
again ;  and  so  we  may  even  look  to  see  poets  of  the  present 
become  as  great  as  the  greatest  of  the  past." 

"  Well,  as  you  have  bargained  for  my  effusions,  unseen, 
you  of  course  have  a  right  to  examine  your  purchase," 
rejoined  Edgar  ;  "  and  this  shall  be  my  apology  for  bring- 
ing them  forward;"  and  retiring  into  the  adjoining  apart-  . 
ment,  he  shortly  returned  with  a  package  of  some  dozen 
articles,  neatly  written  and  folded  with  care. 

Dudley  seized  them  with  avidity,  and,  in  spite  of  Edgar's 
protestations,  opened  and  began  to  raruse  them. 

"Beautiful!"  he  exclaimed,  as  his  eye  run  rapidly  over 
the  first;  "beautiful !  Ah,  better  still !"  he  pursued,  as  he 
concluded  the  second.  And  then  hastily  scanning  the 
others,  he  added,  grasping  Edgar's  hand :  "  My  friend,  I 
do  not  wish  to  flatter  you,  but,  for  a  first  attempt,  I  have 
never  seen  any  thing  to  compare  with  these.  I  have  reason 


FORTUNE    STILL   PROPITIOUS.  149 

to  rejoice  at  my  bargain.     Here  is  your  money;"  and  he 
counted  Edgar  down  a  hundred  dollars  in  gold. 

It  would  be  impossible  to  describe  the  feelings  of  the 
latter,  as  he  modestly  accepted  the  reward  of  his  toil.  It 
was  gold  honestly  earned,  and  it  was  his :  gold  paid  to  his 
genius  :  gold  that  told  him  he  had  talents  above  the  herd — 
that  at  least  he  was  fit  for  something ;  and  as  he  thought 
over  the  events  of  the  day,  his  eyes  brightened,  his  soul 
seemed  to  expand,  and  with  a  sort  of  giddiness,  common  to 
first  success,  he  already  fancied  he  stood  on  the  dizzy  heights 
of  fame  and  beheld  an  admiring  world  at  his  feet.  As  for 
Virginia,  she  was  all  bewilderment ;  for  the  whole  proceed- 
ing was  a  mystery  to  her ;  but  she  saw  her  brother  had  at 
least  the  means  of  living,  and  her  heart  bounded  with 
delight  at  the  thought. 

"When  next  we  meet,"  said  Dudley,  as  he  rose  to  take 
leave,  "  I  trust  I  shall  see  you  both  in  a  station  befitting 
your  early  years  and  education ;"  and  pressing  the  hands 
of  both  warmly,  but  with  a  heightened  color  as  his  own 
touched  Virginia's,  he  departed. 

As  soon  as  he  was  gone,  Edgar  sat  down,  drew  his  sister 
upon  his  knee,  kissed  her  sweet  lips,  and,  in  a  voice  tremu- 
lous with  joy,  told  her  all  that  had  happened,  and  the 
bright  prospects  now  in  store  for  them ;  and  both  mingled 
their  tears  of  gladness,  that  the  night  of  their  sorrow  was 
passing  away  and  a  day  of  brightness  was  already  dawn- 
ing. 

"  We  must  not  appear  before  our  new  friends  in  the.se 
faded  garments,"  ^said  Edgar;  "and  now  that  I  have 
money,  honestly  my  own,  let  us  forth  and  make  some  pur- 
chases. Oh,  that  our  poor  mother  were  living  ! — how  .this 
would  make  her  heart  rejoice  !" 

Carrying  out  his  own  suggestion,  Edgar  purchased  a 
ready-made  suit  for  himself,  and  a  handsome  black  drcba 
13 


150  THE   FORGED   WILL. 

and  bonnet  for  his  sister ;  and  when  they  had  donned  their 
new  habiliments,  each  congratulating  the  other  on  appearing 
again  as  in  the  days  of  their  prosperity. 

"  And  now,"  said  Virginia,  as  she  carefully  folded  the 
cast  off  garments,  "  let  us  preserve  these,  should  fortune 
prove  propitious  once  more,  to  remind  us  of  our  days,  of 
adversity ;  so  that  when  we  behold  our  fellows  suffering, 
we  may  remember  what  we  have  endured,  and  not  forget  to 
be  charitable." 

"As  you  will,"  replied  Edgar:  "but  with  you  and  I, 
my  sweet  sister,  it  will  hardly  need  these  as  remembrancers 
of  what  we  have  been.  Ha  !  what  is  this  ?"  he  added,  as, 
in  overhauling  his  garments,  a  paper  secured  in  the  torn 
lining  caught  his  eye.  "Good  heavens  !  is  it  possible?" he 
continued,  drawing  it  forth.  "  It  is  the  lost  check  as  I 
live." 

Great  were  the  rejoicings  of  Edgar  and  his  sister  at  this 
discovery,  for  to  them  it  seemed  inexhaustible  wealth.  As 
it  was  not  yet  past  banking  hours,  Edgar  hastened  to  Wall 
street,  and  in  a  short  time  returned  to  Virginia  with  more 
than  a  thousand  dollars,  in  his  possession.  And  then  what 
joy  was  in  their  hearts,  as,  with  arms  thrown  fondly  around 
each  other,  they  sat  and  talked  over  tkeir  plans  for  the 
morrow. 

Alas  !  poor  oppressed  orphans  ! — they  little  dream  what 
the  morrow,  or  even  the  night,  had  in  store  for  them.  The 
fowler  had  sprung  his  net,  and  they  were  already  becoming 
entangled  in  its  meshes. 


CHAPTER  XIII. 

THE   PLOT  THICKENS. 

IT  was  an  early  hour  in  the  morning  of  the  day  which 
closes  the  preceding  chapter,  and  in  the  same  apartment 
where  we  first  introduced  them  to  the  reader,  sat  Oliver 
Atherton  and  Nathan  Wesley.  The  former  was  in  fine 
spirits,  if  one  might  judge  from  the  manner  he  rubhed  to- 
gether his  hands,  and  the  gleam  of  fiendish  delight  which 
over-spread  his  countenance. 

"And  so,"  he  said,  turning  to  his  attorney,  "he  is 
caught  at  last  ?" 

"At  last,"  dryly  responded  Wesley. 

"  Ha,  ha !  this  does  my  soul  good.  Now  he  shall  feel 
what  it  is  to  beard  me.  Now  he  shall  know  what  it  is  to 
fall  into  the  clutches  of  the  tiger  he  has  goaded  to  madness. 
Hypocrite,  indeed !  Thanks  to  fortune,  my  hypocrisy  is 
of  a  useful  kind,  for  by  it  I  can  triumph  over  my  enemies, 
and  crush  them  that  lie  in  my  path.  Ay,  and  crush  them 
I  will !"  he  cried,  with  a  hellish  gleam  of  malice  darkening 
his  features.  "  And  him  above  all  others  will  I  crush ! 

Yes,  by !"  he  fairly  shouted,  uttering  a  blasphemous 

oath,  "  I  will  extinguish  the  race ! — and  then,  and  not  till 
then,  will  I  deem  myself  safe." 

"  And  will  you  then  ?"  quietly  asked  the  attorney. 

"Will  I  then?"  repeated  Atherton  in  surprise.  "Will 
I  then  ?  Certainly — why  not  ? — what  do  you  mean  ?" 

"  0,  nothing — merely  asked  the  question." 

(151) 


152  THE   FORGED   WILL. 

"  'Tis  false  !  I  know  you  well — you  never  speak  with- 
out a  meaning.  Do  you  think  to  betray  me  ?" 

"  I !"  replied  the  other  in  pretended  astonishment.  "I 
betray  you  ?— betray  my  master  ? — (this  last  wa.s  said  with 
sarcastic  emphasis) — how  can  you  think  of  such  a  thing  ? 
Besides,  supposing  I  did  ?  Your  gold,  you  know,  would 
save  you." 

"  Ha !"  cried  Atherton,  with  a  start,  remembering  his 
words  to-  the  other  at  their  last  conference :  "  Beware, 
Wesley — beware  !  I  am  not  one  to  be  trifled  with.  I  have 
already  been  warned  of  you:  so  beware!  Even  so  much 
as  attempt  to  turn  traitor,  and,  by  heavens,  I  will  not  wait 

the  slow  process  of  the  law !  No  by !  with  my  own 

hands  will  I  let  out  your  heart's  blood !" 

"  And  get  hung  for  your  trouble,"  quietly  returned  the 
other. 

"No,  I  thank  you,  good  Mr.  Wesley— I  will  make  my 
gold  save  me,"  sarcastically  rejoined  the  millionaire;  and 
then  hastily  added :  "  But  come,  a  truce  to  this.  It  is  all 
important  that  you  and  I  should  be  friends,  Wesley." 

"All  important,"  said  the  attorney,  dryly. 

"You  must  assist  me  in  this  affair,  Wesley,  and  swear 
point  blank  to  whatever  I  dictate." 

"  And  so  perjure  myself." 

"Well  what  of  that?  You  have  already  done  darker 
deeds,  you  know." 

_  "Now  stop  !"  cried  Wesley,  with  a  terrible  gleam  in  his 
small  black  eyes.  "  No  more  of  that !  What  I  did  was 
for  self-defence ;  but  you  mustn't  throw  it  in  my  teeth 
again  !  It  was  a  bad  job,  and  I've  never  had  an  easy  con- 
science since." 

"Well,  well,  let  it  pass,  Wesley.  You  did  well — and 
for  doing  well  got  gold  —  and  gold,  as  they  say  of  charity, 
will  cover  a  multitude  of  sins.  You  have  done  well  now — 


THE   PLOT   THICKENS.  153 

only  finish  your  good  work.  Away,  good  Wesley,  and  take 
this  warrant  for  his  apprehension.  He  must  be  caught 
and  caged  to-night.  Away,  now — set  the  hounds  of  the 
law  upon  him  and  drag  him  forth,  though  he  be  kneeling 
at  the  altar  of  Christ !  Once  convicted,  friend  Wesley,  and 
it  shall  be  the  best  day's  work  you  ever  performed.  Make 
all  safe,  and  then  let  me  know;"  and  as  Atherton  con- 
cluded, the  attorney  rose,  bowed,  and  took  his  leave. 

For  a  few  minutes  after  being  left  to  himself  the  schem- 
ing hypocrite  paced  the  room  and  rubbed  his  hands  with 
delight ;  and  then  muttering,  "  Now  then  for  my  visitor  be- 
low," he  quitted  the  apartment. 

Mean  time  Wesley,  instead  of  leaving  the  mansion  at 
once,  ascended  a  flight  of  stairs,  and  carefully  opening 
a  door  on  his  right,  entered  another  elegant  apartment, 
where  stood  a  young  man  before  his  mirror,  carefully  ar- 
ranging his  toilet.  As  the  attorney  closed  the  door,  he 
looked  round  carelessly,  and  disclosed  the  features  of 
Acton  Atherton. 

"  0,  it  is  you,  eh  ?"  he  said  yawning.  "  Well,  Wes,  what 
deviltry  is  afoot  now,  eh?" 

"  Your  own,"  answered  the  other. 

"  Speak  it  out,  man!" 

"  You  want  to  get  that  girl  in  your  power  ?"  ~ 

"  Yes,  yes !"  said  Acton,  hastily,  in  a  low  tone,  his  eyes 
brightening  with  interest. 

"I  can  put  you  in  a  way." 

"How?  quick!  tell  me!" 

"  And  if  you  succeed  ?" 

"  The  fifty  dollars  I  promised  are  yours." 

"Do  you  know  who  she  is?" 

"  No,  and  care  less,  so  I  once  have  her  in  my  power, 
and  no  particular  friend  by  as  before." 

"  Then  come  with  me." 

13* 


154  THE   FORGED   WILL. 

"  But  how  will  you  arrange  it  ?" 

"  It's  fixed  already.     Come  with  me  and  I'll  show  you." 

"  In  a  moment ; "  and  completing  his  toilet  in  haste, 
Acton  and  Wesley  quitted  the  mansion  together,  both  bent 
on  the  devil's  mission. 

While  these  things  were  transpiring  above  stairs,  Cla- 
rence Malcolm,  of  whom  mention  has  frequently  been 
made,  and  Arabella  Atherton  were  sitting  tete-a-tete  in  the 
magnificent  parlor  below.  The  former  was  a  fine,  noble 
leoking  young  man,  of  commanding  appearance,  who 
seemed,  by  his  erect  carriage  and  lofty  demeanor,  to  feel 
himself  fully  on  an  equality  with  the  proud,  haughty  heiress 
who  sat  by  his  side,  a  sort  of  queenly,  breathing  statue, 
so  cold  and  inflexible  she  appeared.  In  fact  it  was  appa- 
rent from  her  present  manner,  that  she  either  cared  noth- 
ing for  her  guest,  or  that  she  had  taken  offence  at  some- 
thing in  the  conversation  preceding  our  introduction  of  the 
parties. 

But  whatever  the  cause  of  her  hauteur,  Clarence  was 
evidently  desirous  of  removing  it ;  for  after  two  or  three 
ineffectual  attempts  to  draw  her  into  conversation,  he  said : 

"  If  I  have  offended  you  in  any  way,  Miss  Atherton,  it 
nas  been  done  unwittingly,  and  I  crave  pardon !" 

"  Of  course  you  have  it,"  she  answered  coldly. 

"Thank  you!"  he  rejoined,  with  slight  sarcasm  in  his 
tone.  "  It  is  something  to  know  one  is  forgiven,  albeit 
one  never- learns  wherein  one  has  offended." 

To  this  Arabella  deigned  no  reply ;  and  after  a  rather 
embarrassing  silence  of  a  few  moments,  the  other  said, 
abruptly  fixing  his  eyes  steadily  upon  the  haughty  beauty  : 

"  You  have  cousins  in  town,  Miss  Atherton  ?" 

Arabella  started,  and  her  features  flashed  as  she  replied: 

"Not  that  I  am  aware  of,  sir." 

"Indeed !  that  is  very  strange  !" 


THE   PLOT   THICKENS.  155 

"Is  it?"  dryly  responded  the  other.  "And  suppose  I 
have  cousins  in  town,  is  there  any  thing  so  very  remarka- 
ble in  the  fact  ?" 

"No,  certainly  not,  Miss  Atherton.  Your  having 
cousins  in  town  is  not  remarkable.  It  is  that  you  should 
know  nothing  of  them,  and,  while  living  in  luxury  yourself, 
they  should  be  literally  starving." 

"  What  mean  you  ?"  demanded  the  other,  haughtily. 

"  What  I  say,  Miss  Atherton,"  replied  Clarence,  in  the 
same  haughty  vein.  "  I  never  speak  with  a  double  mean- 
ing." 

"  Indeed  !"  rejoined  Arabella,  biting  her  lips  with  vex- 
ation. "  Well,  sir,  you  will  be  good  enough  to  be  more 
explicit,  or  let  the  subject  drop,  for  I  do  not  comprehend 
the  drift  of  your  conversation." 

"  A  single  question,  then  ?" 

"  Well,  sir  ?" 

"  Had  your  father  a  sister  ?" 

Arabella's  face  flushed  as  she  replied : 

"  I  have  so  understood — I  never  saw  her." 

"  She  married  a  Courtly  ?" 

Arabella  nodded  haughtily. 

"  And  had  two  children  ?"  continued  Clarence. 

"  So  I  have  heard." 

"  The  father  was  lost  at  sea  ?" 

"Even  so." 

"  Your  father  became  possessor  of  his  property  ?" 

"  Sir,"  rejoined  Arabella,  indignantly,  rising  proudly 
from  her  seat,  "  you  are  now  touching  upon  family  affairs, 
with  which  you  and  no  other  stranger  has  any  business." 

"Nay,"  said  Clarence,  gravely,  "I  am  not  exactly  a 
stranger,  Miss  Arabella,  and  am  not  yet  convinced  I  have 
no  right  to  question  as  I  do." 


156  THE   FORGED   WILL. 

"  Then  question  those  who  will  answer  you,"  she  said, 
scornfully,  preparing  to  leave  the  apartment. 

"  Stay  !"  said  Clarence,  rising  and  gently  touching  her 
on  the  arm.  "  I  do  not  wish  to  give  offence,  Miss  Atherton 
— nor  do  I  ask  these  questions  idly.  They  are  perhaps 
all  important  to  you,  to  me,  and  to  others.  Sit  down  I 
pray  you  !  I  will  not  detain  you  long.". 

Arabella  hesitated,  but  finally  resumed  her  seat. 

"  Your  father,  I  say,  became  possessed,  by  will,  of  his 
brother-in-law's  property;  and  a  vast  possession  it  was, 
which  he  still  holds ;  but  his  sister,  after  spending  the  little 
bequeathed  to  herself,  removed  with  her  children  to  this 
city,  and  here  died  of  starvation  and  a  broken  heart." 

"  Sir  !"  cried  Arabella,  turning  pale  :  "  Mr.  Malcolm  ! 
do  you  say  this  to  insult  me  ?" 

"  No,  Miss  Atherton ;  I  pride  myself  on  being  a  gentle- 
man, and  no  gentleman  will  insult  a  lady ; .  nevertheless  I 
must  tell  you  the  truth." 

"  How  know  you  this  ?" 

"  That,  begging  your  pardon,  is  a  secret  I  must  withhold. 
Let  it  suffice,  that  my  information  comes  from  a  worthy 
source." 

"  You  speak  in  riddles  to  me,  Mr.  Malcolm :  I  cannot 
comprehend  your  object.  If  I  have  relatives  in  town,  so 
poor  as  you  say,  they  should  have  applied  to  my  father 
and  been  relieved.  I  trust  you  do  not  hold  me  answerable 
for  their  neglect  in  making  their  condition  known  ?" 

"  But  they  did  make  their  condition  known  to  your 
father,  and  were  refused  assistance,  even  so  much  as  would 
drive  starvation  from  their  door." 

"  Hold !"  cried  Arabella,  springing  to  her  feet,  her 
proud  bosom  heaving  with  angry  passions,  and  her  dark 
eyes  flashing  defiance :  "  I  will  bear  this  insolence  no 
longer !  You,  Clarence  Malcolm,  are  the  first  that  has 


THE   PLOT   THICKENS.  157 

ever  so  dared  to  insult  me,  and  I  hate  you  for  it.  Ay, 
•were  you  to  become  an  emperor  and  sue  at  my  feet,  I 
would  remember  what  you  have  this  night  uttered,  and 
spurn  you  from  me.  You  have  said  that  my  father  refused 
assistance  to  his  poor  relations,  knowing  them  to  be  desti- 
tute." 

"I  repeat  it,"  rejoined  Clarence,  firmly,  also  rising  and 
confronting  his  angry  hostess.  "  Yes,  Miss  Atherton,  I 
repeat  it ;  for  I  have  it  from  a  source  entitled  to  all  confi- 
dence— no  less  than  from  the  parties  themselves.  But 
stay — understand  me — I  do  not  accuse  you.  A  thousand 
things  may  transpire,  even  in  your  own  mansion,  of  which 
you  may  be  ignorant ;  and  from  your  manner  and  conver- 
sation, I  sincerely  believe  you  knew  nothing  of  your 
cousins ;  and  that  had  you  known  their  condition,  your 
own  private  purse  would  have  generously  relieved  them. 
So  much  I  will  say ;  but  that  your  father  was  not  ignorant, 
and  that  he  did  refuse  them  the  means  to  live  until  his 
sister  was  in  a  dying  state,  I  do  boldly  assert." 

If  Arabella  could  have  withered  and  annihilated  Cla- 
rence Malcolm  with  a  glance,  the  glance  of  hate  and  scorn 
she  bestowed  upon  him,  as  he  concluded,  would  have  done 
so.  For  a  few  moments  her  excited  passions  would  not 
allow  her  to  answer  ;  and  she  stood  before  him  with  heav- 
ing breast,  expanded  nostrils,  and  flashing  eyes.  At 
length,  with  all  the  haughty  scorn  she  could  throw  into  her 
words,  she  rejoined : 

"  Mr.  Malcolm,  allow  me  to  give  you  due  credit  for 
having  once  to-night  spoken  the  truth ;  and  that  when  you 
said,  had  I  known  the  condition  of  my  kins-people,  I  would 
have  relieved  them.  But  what  you  say  of  my  father,  beg- 
ging your  pardon  for  the  unlady-like  expression,  is  false ! 
No  man,  sir,  is  more  benevolent  than  my  father ;  and  that 
he  has  given  large  sums  to  benevolent  societies,  and  to  the 


158  THE  FORGED   WILL. 

poor,  you,  sir,  know  as  well  as  I ;  and  therefore,  I  again 
repeat,  what  you  have  said  is  false — a  base,  wilful,  malig- 
nant slander  !  Henceforth,  sir,  we  are  strangers  ;  and  as 
I  hear  my  father's  step,  perhaps  you  will  have  the  auda- 
city to  re-speak  your  slanderous  language  to  his  face." 

Saying  this,  Arabella  walked  proudly  to  the  door,  where 
she  was  met  by  Atherton,  just  come  down  from  his  inter- 
view with  Wesley  to  join  her,  and  if  possible,  further  his 
scheme  of  effecting  a  union  between  herself  and  Clarence. 

"Eh  !  my  daughter — what  is  this? — what  is  this?"  he 
said,  hastily,  making  an  effort  to  detain  her,  and  glancing 
at  Malcolm  as  if  for  an  explanation,  who  stood  proudly 
drawn  up  to  his  full  height,  where  Arabella  had  left  him, 
calmly  watching  her  motions. 

"  Question  him  !"  replied  Arabella,  with  a  gesture  of 
displeasure  toward  Clarence ;  and  stepping  proudly  aside, 
she  passed  her  father  and  disappeared. 

"  Ah,  my  dear  Malcolm,"  continued  the  hypocrite, 
closing  the  door  and  approaching  the  other  with  hand 
extended,  "I  am  delighted  to  see  you.  How  is  your 
health  this  evening,  and  that  of  your  good  mother?" 

"  We  are  well,"  answered  Clarence,  coldly,  barely  taking 
the  hand  of  the  millionaire,  and  letting  it  fall  without 
pressure. 

"Ah,  yes — glad  to  hear  it,"  said  the  other,  affecting 
not  to  notice  his  cool  reception.  "  So  you  have  had  a 
little  love  quarrel,  eh  ?  you  and  Arabella.  0  you  lovers  ! 
— always  fighting  and  making  up  again,  Well,  well — • 
just  so  with  my  wife  and  myself  before  we  were  joined  in 
holy  wedlock.  Ah  me  !"  he  sighed,  affecting  to  weep : 
"  Poor  Fanny  !  she  is  gone  to  her  long  home  now.  Well, 
Buch  things  must  be,  you  know,  in  this  ever  changing 
world  of  sin  and  death ;  and  we  should  not  repine,  but, 
like  true  Christians,  be  resigned  to  the  will  of  our  Maker." 


THE   PLOT   THICKENS.  159 

"A  truly  pious  sentiment,  Mr.  Atherton,"  dryly  re- 
sponded Clarence,  eyeing  the  other  closely. 

"  There  is  nothing  like  a  Christian's  hope  in  such  hours 
of  affliction,"  meekly  rejoined  the  dissembler,  with  a  sanc- 
timonious face  befitting  a  godly  priest.  "  When  my  dear 
•wife  Fanny  died,  a  year  ago,  I  thought  my  heart  would 
break ;  but  I  looked  to  Him  for  support  in  my  trying  hour, 
and  not  in  vain ;  for  he  filled  my  soul  with  the  hope  of  an 
eternal  meeting  beyond  the  grave.  But  I  beg  pardon, 
friend  Clarence  !  I  am  keeping  you  standing.  Come,  let 
us  be  seated,  and  have  a  little  private  conversation." 

"With  all  my  heart,"  said  Clarence;  "for  there  is  a 
matter  of  some  little  moment  I  wish  to  touch  upon." 

"  0,  yes — exactly — I  understand,"  returned  Atherton, 
with  what  he  intended  should  be  thought  a  knowing  smile. 
"  Well,  to  come  to  the  point  at  once — and  that  is  what  all 
lovers  desire,  though  most  of  them  are  backward  enough 
in  doing  it  themselves — I  must  say  that,  though  a  little 
petulant  and  proud  at  times,  Arabella  is  a  dear,  sweet 
girl ;  with  whom  I  am  extremely  loth  to  part ,  but  then, 
when  I  consider  that  she  is  to  be  united  to  one  so  highly 
esteemed  as  yourself " 

"  Sir,"  interrupted  Malcolm,  with  crimson  features, 
"you  mistake.  My  desired  conversation  has  no  reference 
to  your  daughter." 

"  Ah,  indeed !"  said  the  worldly  man,  seeming  to  be 
abstracted,  though  his  cold  blue  eye  was  seeking  the  while 
to  penetrate  the  very  soul  of  his  guest.  "  Indeed,  my 
young  friend,  I  exceedingly  regret  that  two  persons  of 
such  good  sense  as  you  and  Arabella  possess,  should  let  a 
trifling  love-quarrel  so  interfere  with  your  desires." 

"Again  you  mistake,"  rejoined  Clarence,  sternly.  "We 
have  had  no  love- quarrel,  as  you  term  it." 


ICO  THE   FORGED   WILL. 

"  No  ?  Then  I  was  mistaken  in  supposing  you  offended 
with  each  other?" 

"  No,  Mr.  Atherton,  in  that  you  were  not  mistaken." 

"  Hum  !  hum  !  Well,  you  lovers  are  mysterious." 

"  Nay,  sir,  be  so  good  as  to  understand  me,  once  for  all, 
that  we  are  not  lovers!"  said  Clarence,  indignant  at  the 
other's  perverse  assumption  of  what  he  knew  was  false. 

"  Not  lovers  ?  and  you  visiting  her  regularly  ?  Poh ! 
poh  !  don't  tell  me  that !" 

"  True,  I  have  visited  her  somewhat  regularly  of  late, 
and  may  have  had  some  serious  intentions  in  so  doing — 
but  they  are  past  now,  and  this  is  my  last  visit." 

"Indeed!"  returned  Atherton,  seriously;  "you  surprise 
me  !  Is  not  my  daughter  good  enough  for  you  ?" 

"  Too  good,  perhaps — at  least  she  would  have  me  think 
so — but  that  is  neither  here  nor  there." 

"  Pray  tell  me  the  reason  of  your  quarrel  ? — for  quar- 
reled you  have,  I  see." 

"  I  will— at  least  as  far  as  I  know.  What  she  first  took 
offence  at,  she  better  knows  than  I — for  I  had  said  nothing 
that  I  am  aware  of  to  give  her  cause — but  the  last  matter 
in  discussion,  and  at  which  she  most  took  fire,  was  regard- 
ing her  cousins  and  yourself." 

As  he  said  this,  Clarence  fixed  his  eyes  upon  Atherton, 
and  witnessed  a  most  rapid  and  fearful  change,  which  con- 
vinced him  he  was  right  in  the  course  he  was  pursuing.  A 
deadly  pallor  overspread  his  countenance,  his  brow  dark- 
ened, his  lips  compressed,  and  a  cold,  sullen  gleam  shot 
from  his  blue  eyes.  For  a  moment  he  gazed  sternly  upon 
his  guest,  without  speaking,  and  then  said,  with  assumed 
composure : 

"  Well,  sir,  what  of  her  cousins  ?' 

"  Why,  in  the  course  of  conversation,  I  remarked  that 


THE   PLOT   THICKENS.  161 

it  was  singular  she  should  be  living  in  splendor,  while 
they  were  starving  in  the  same  city." 

The  millionaire  started,  and  his  face  grew  darker — more 
devilish — so  much  so,  that  Clarence  gazed  upon  him  in 
astonishment. 

"  Well  sir  ?"  he  said. 

"Your  daughter  denied  all  knowledge  of  the  fact,"  pur- 
sued Clarence,  quietly,  still  eyeing  the  other  closely,  "  and 
said  if  such  were  the  case,  they  should  have  made  known 
their  condition  to  you  and  been  relieved.  I  replied  that 
they  had  done  so,  and  been  refused  assistance." 

"  'Tis  false!"  cried  Atherton,  springing  up  in  rage, 
completely  thrown  off  his  guard.  "  'Tis  false,  I  say — false 
as  hell !  I  gave  Edgar  Courtly  a  check  for  a  thousand 
dollars." 

"  But  not  until  his  mother,  your  sister,  was  dying. 

"  How  know  you  that,  sir?" 

"  That  is  my  secret." 

"  And  even  if  she  was  dying,  what  is  that  to  you  ?" 

"  Every  thing — since  their  cause  has  now  become  mine." 

"  Indeed  !  and  what  do  you  intend  to  tlo?" 

"  Set  the  wronged  right,  and  make  villainy  tremble." 

"  Is  it  possible  ?  I  trust  you  will  have  a  pleasant  time 
of  it !" 

"  If  I  succeed,  I  doubt  not  I  shall." 

"  Take  my  advice,  young  man — go  home,  and  meddle 
no  more  with  what  does  not  concern  you!" 

"But  this  does  concern  me,  I  say;  and  since  you 
are  free  to  give  advice,  Mr.  Atherton,  take  a  little  of  mine, 
and  be  cautious  what  you  do  hereafter ;  for  every  action 
will  be  watched — every  motive  closely  scanned." 

"  Then  I  am  to  have  spies  upon  me,  am  I?" 

"  And  have  no  more  than  you  deserve,  since  your  former 
deeds  are  becoming  known." 
14 


102  THE   FORGED   WILL. 

"  Ha !  what  do  you  know  ?"  quickly  interrogated  the  other 
turning  very  pale. 

"  Time  will  show,  sir,  what  I  know.  Again  I  say,  be 
cautious !" 

"  Some  villainous  report  of  that  cursed  nephew  of  mine. 
By !  I  will  have  him  hung  !" 

"Is  this  your  Christian  piety?"  queried  Clarence. 
"  So,  so — the  mask  is  off  sooner  than  I  anticipated;  and  I 
now  behold  you  what  you  have  been  represented— a  base 
hypocrite!" 

"  Leave  my  house,  sir !"  cried  Atherton,  stamping  his 
foot  violently,  completely  beside  himself  with  rage. 

"I  do  so  with  pleasure,"  returned  Malcolm,  calmly, 
rising  from  his  seat ;  "  and  promise  you,  moreover,  I  will 
never  again  darken  your  door.  And  furthermore,  I  now 
tell  you  to  your  teeth,  I  am  henceforth  your  determined 
foe,  and  will  spare  no  pains  to  expose  your  hypocrisy  at 
any  and  all  times  and  places ;  and  if  I  can  prove  you  have 
gained  your  property  wrongfully — taken  it  unlawfully 
from  the  widow  and  orphan — I  solemnly  swear  to  devote 
time,  energy  and  money,  to  the  last  cent  I  have  if  neces- 
sary, to  bring  you  to  the  punishment  you  so  richly  merit. 
There  are  so  many  hypocrites  in  the  world — so  many 
wolves  in  sheep's  clothing — that  it  is  not  only  an  act  of 
justice,  but  a  righteous  act,  to  expose  and  punish  all  we 
can." 

It  is  impossible  to  portray  the  appearance  of  Atherton  as 
he  heard  these  words.  His  usually  serene  features  became 
almost  haggard  with  fear  and  rage,  his  eyes  glared  wildly, 
and  there  was  a  foam  and  lividness  about  the  lips,  such  as 
madmen  sometimes  exhibit.  As  Clarence  ceased,  he 
clenched  his  hand  and  took  a  step  forward  as  if  to  strike 
him.  Then  pausing  irresolute,  he  turned,  and  casting 


THE   PLOT   THICKENS.  163 

himself  upon  a  seat,  buried  his  face  in  his  hands  and 
groaned. 

Gazing  sternly  upon  him  for  a  moment,  Clarence  turned 
upon  his  heel  and  left  him  to  his  own  bitter  reflections. 

For  the  space  of  ten  minutes  the  schemer  rocked  to  and 
fro,  like  one  in  agony,  and  then  started  up  suddenly. 

"  Fool !  fool !"  he  exclaimed ;  "  a  cursed  fool  I  am ! 

Foiled  again  by !  Why  did  I  admit  that  matter  of 

the  check  ?  But  lie  at  least  shall  not  escape  me !  No, 
sooner  than  that,  I  will  bribe  a  dozen  witnesses  to  swear 
him  to  eternal  perdition;"  and  with  these  dark  words  upon 
his  lips,  Oliver  Atherton  quitted  the  apartment  to  plot  new 
schemes  of  hell. 


CHAPTER  XIV. 

THE  ARREST. 

IT  was  about  nine  o'clock  in  the  evening,  that  Edgar  and 
Virginia  sat  together  before  a  cheerful  fire,  recalling  the 
events  of  the  day.  There  was  an  air  of  gladness  on  the 
features  of  each,  mingled  with  a  slight  shade  of  gloom,  like 
the  first  breaking  forth  of  the  sun  upon  a  late  stormy  land- 
scape, which  made  them  appear  very  interesting.  The 
dark  habiliments  of  mourning  now  worn  by  each,  contrasting 
with  their  pale,  expressive  features,  gave  them  a  sort  of 
classic  interest,  if  we  may  be  permitted  the  phrase,  over 
which  an  artist  would  have  lingered  with  delight. 

"  And  what  is  he  to  do  with  your  poems,  dear  Edgar  ?" 
asked  Virginia,  with  her  beautiful  hand  resting  gracefully 
on  his  shoulder,  and  her  soft  blue  eyes  looking  tenderly  and 
earnestly  into  his,  while  around  the  half  parted  lips  lingered 
a  sweet  though  rather  melancholy  smile,  as  if  the  sorrow 
of  the  past  and  the  joy  of  the  present  were  commingling  in 
her  soul. 

"  Indeed,  sweet  sister,  I  do  not  know,"  replied  Edgar, 
turning  to  her  his  manly,  noble  countenance,  and  imprinting 
on  her  lips  a  kiss  of  fraternal  love.  "  As  I  told  you  before, 
he  spoke  something  of  a  magazine  and  newspaper,  and  of 
giving  me  the  charge  of  either;  but  I  more  than  half 
suspect  he  made  the  poetry  an  excuse  to  put  in  my  posses- 
sion the  money  I  had  refused  as  a  loan.  Generous  soul ! 
how  noble  in  him  to  do  this !  and  what  a  contrast  he  forms 
to  our  selfish,  avaricious,  hypocritical  uncle,  who,  though 
(164) 


THE   ARREST.  165 


he  gave  me  something  at  last,  did  it  as  he  feared  to  do 
otherwise — fancying,  methought,  I  had  a  clue  to  some  dark 
secret,  that,  if  known,  would  be  his  undoing.  And  this, 
by  the  way,  reminds  me  I  must  not  fail  to  call  on  Davis  to- 
. morrow.  Perchance  he  may  be  in  a  condition  to  explain 
his  mysterious  words.  But  ah  !  why  do  I  think  of  man's 
baseness  now,  at  a  time  when  my  heart  is  made  glad  by 
the  nobleness  of  disinterested  friendship  and  generous 
gratitude !  No,  banished  be  all  from  my  thoughts !  I 
will  think  of  an  angel  I  this  day  for  the  first  time  beheld." 

"  Of  Edith  Morton,"  quoth  Virginia,  with  an  arch 
smile. 

"  Of  one  dear  Virginia,  you  shall  love  as  a  sister.  0, 
that  to-morrow  were  come,  that  you  might  behold  her  !" 

Virginia  sighed. 

"I,  too,"  she  said,  pretending  to  search  for  something 
at  her  feet,  "will  think  of " 

" Dudley,"  added  Edgar,  as  she  paused.  "Ay,  think 
of  him,  sister,  for  he  is  worthy  of  your  thoughts." 

"  Nay,  I  said  not  him,  Edgar,"  cried  Virginia,  quickly, 
now  showing  a  face  deeply  flushed — possibly  caused  by 
bending  forward — possibly  by  the  fire — or,  possibly — by 
what  you  will,  reader. 

"  Hark !"  exclaimed  Edgar,  suddenly ;  "  there  are  heavy 
steps  on  the  stairs,  and  rough  voices  without.  What  can 
be  the  meaning?" 

Virginia  drew  close  to  him  in  alarm.  The  next  moment 
there  came  a  heavy  double-knock  on  the  door,  as  if  struck 
with  a  club,  and  a  voice  without  said  hoarsely : 

"  Guard  the  windows,  and  see  he  don't  escape  by  t'other 
door !" 

"  Who  are  you,  and  what  is  wanted  ?"  demanded  Edgar, 
rising  and  taking  a  step  forward,  while  Virginia  clung 
tremblingly  to  him. 

14* 


166  THE    FORGED   WILL. 

"  Open,  in  the  name  of  the  commonwealth !  I'm  an 
officer  of  the  police." 

"No,  no — do  not!"  cried  Virginia,  intercepting  her 
brother  as  he  was  about  to  comply  with  the  demand. 
"  This  is  some  plot  to  murder  you." 

"  Be  firm,  Virginia,  and  reach  me  yonder  knife," 
said  Edgar,  in  a  low  tone,  with  deathly  pale  features  and 
compressed  lips.  "  Should  they  prove  to  be  impostors,  it 
shall  go  hard  with  some  of  them.  Quick,  the  knife !  and 
then  retire  into  the  other  apartment." 

"  Open,  or  I'll  split  down  your  door  !"  said  the  voice 
•without. 

"Do  so,  and  you  are  a  dead  man!"  returned  Edgar. 
"  Quick,  Virginia !  There,  now  hasten  into  the  other 
apartment." 

"  But,  Edgar,  dear,"  began  Virginia,  in  trembling  tones. 

"Nay,  away,  before  violence  is  done!"  interrupted  her 
brother.  "Fly,  and  close  the  door! "and  as  Virginia 
complied  with  his  entreaty,  he  turned  the  key  in  the  door 
and  threw  it  open. 

Two  figures  at  once  advanced  into  the  apartment — one 
the  villainous  person  of  Wesley,  and  the  other  a  stout, 
coarse-featured,  red-faced  individual,  partly  muffled  in  a 
rough  over-coat,  who  carried  in  one  hand  a  paper,  and  in 
the  other  a  heavy  hickory  club. 

"  That's  him,"  nodded  Wesley  toward  Edgar. 

"  Edgar  Courtly,"  said  the  other  advancing,  and  placing 
his  brawny  hand  on  his  shoulder,  "you're  my  prisoner." 

"  For  what  ?"  demanded  Edgar,  calmly,  while  Virginia, 
uttering  a  wild  shriek,  came  bounding  forward. 

"  For  forgery,"  gruffly  replied  the  officer. 

"  Great  Heaven  !  I  arrested  for  forgery  !'  You  must  be 
mocking  me !" 

"  There's  the  document ;  and  if  you  think  there's  any 


THE   ARREST.  167 


mockery  in  that,  why  you're  welcome  to  think  so,  that's 
all,"  replied  the  constable,  showing  Edgar  the  writ  for  his 
apprehension. 

"  'Tis  even  so,"  said  Edgar,  clasping  the  almost  fainting 
Virginia  to  his  beating  heart.  "  Great  God !  are  we  never 
to  know  the  end  of  our  misery !  Must  one  affliction  tread 
upon  another  till  they  crush  us  into  our  graves  !  Oh,  God 
of  the  orphans !"  he  cried,  wildly,  clasping  his  hands  arid 
looking  upwards,  "  bid  death  be  speedy  and  summon  us  to 
a  better  world !"  Then  turning  fiercely  to  the  ofiicer,  he 
continued:  "Who  hath  done  this,  sir? — who  dares  accuse 
me  of  the  crime  you  have  named  ?  In  the  presence  of  my 
Maker,,  sir,  I  swear  I  am  innocent !" 

"  Yes,  yes,"  screamed  Virginia,  wildly,  "  he  is  innocent — 
he  never  did  any  wrong — and  you  shall  not  tear  him  from 
me  !  Go  !  go  ! — you  shall  not  take  him  !" 

"  Come,  come,  pretty  Miss,  it's  no  use  to  whine," 
returned  the  officer ;  "  because,  you  see,  now,  I've  got  to 
do  my  duty  whether  or  no.  I've  no  doubt  the  young  man'll 
be  able  to  prove  his  innocence — but  with  that  I've  nothing 
to  do.  There's  my  paper,  which  says  arrest  Edgar  Courtly, 
and  I've  got  to  do  it.  So,  (to  Edgar)  come  along  !  for  it's 
time  we's  a  moving." 

"  I  see  it  all !"  exclaimed  Edgar,  as  a  thought  flashed 
through  his  brain.  "  It  is  a  damnable  plot  of  my  uncle  to 
put  me  out  of  his  way :  but  I  will  triumph  yet,  and  then 
let  him  beware  !  Cheer  up,  Virginia !  I  have  friends,  and 
shall  not  long  be  kept  in  durance  ;  and  then  let  them  that 
have  done  this  beware !  Cheer  up,  sweet  sister — stay  here 
to-night — and  early  in  the  morning  hasten  to  Calvin  Morton 
and  tell  him  all.  Farewell  1" 

"  No,  no !"  screamed  Virginia,  clinging  tightly  to  him ; 
"you  shall  not  go!  I  will  not  let  you  go — they  will 


168  THE  FORGED   WILL. 


murder  you  !  Oh  God !  oh  God !  to  come  to  this !  You 
shall  not  go  !" 

"  Nay,  dearest  Virginia,"  said  Edgar,  in  an  agony  of 
mind  better  conceived  than  described,  pressing  his  lips  to 
hers,  and  straining  her  to  his  heart  in  a  fond  embrace,  "  I 
must  go  ;  the  officer  is  waiting ;  you  must  not  detain  me  !" 

"  Then  I  will  go  with  you — they  shall  imprison  us 
both — we  will  not  part !" 

"  That  cannot  be,"  spoke  up  Wesley.  "  The  rules  of 
the  prison  wont  allow  it.  Better  stay  where  you  are,  lady, 
and  I'll  bring  you  any  information  you  desire.  Although 
I'm  here  with  the  police  officer,  yet  I'm  your  brother's 
friend,  and  will  do  all  in  my  power  to  render  this  disa- 
greeable business  bearable.  You  spoke  of  Calvin  Morton, 
the  lawyer;  do  you  know  him,  Mr.  Courtly?" 

"Thank  Heaven,  I  do!"  replied  Edgar.  "I  did  him 
some  service,  for  which  he  is  grateful,  and  will  stand  my 
friend.  Oh,  sir,  if  you  are  friendly  toward  us,  as  you  say, 
will  you  not  hasten  to  him  at  once,  and  tell  him  the  con- 
dition in  which  we  both  are  placed?  It  is  the  greatest 
favor  I  can  ask  of  you  at  present,  and  you  shall  have  gold 
for  your  trouble." 

"  I'll  do  it,"  said  Wesley,  with  a  singular  gleam  in  his 
small,  black  eyes — "  that  is,  if  you  persuade  your  sister  to 
remain,  so  that  if  they  send  after  her,  as  I  know  they  will, 
she  can  surely  be  found." 

"  Do  you  hear  Virginia  ?  Now,  sweet  sister,  stay  where 
you  are  till  this  gentleman  returns,  or  sends  some  one  to 
take  you  among  friends ;  and  in  this  way  you  will  both 
hasten  my  release  and  relieve  my  mind." 

"Then  farewell,  brother!"  cried  Virginia,  throwing  her 
arms  around  his  neck  and  bursting  into  tears.  "  Farewell, 
Edgar ! — I — I  will  do  as  you  say.  God  bless  you ! — adieu !" 
and  as  if  fearful  to  longer  test  her  resolution  by  remaining, 


THE   ARREST.  169 


she  sprung  away  from  him  and  into  the  adjoining  apart- 
ment. 

"  Lead  on  !"  said  Edgar  to  the  officer ;  and  with  a  firm 
step,  but  with  a  deathly,  sickening  sensation  at  heart,  he 
left  the  house,  accompanied  by  Wesley  and  the  constable. 

As  the  party  reached  the  foot  of  the  stairs,  two  figures 
approached  them,  and  a  voice  said : 

"  Why,  Gus,  I'd  begun  to  think  you  wasn't  a-coming. 
What  in  thunder  kept  you  so  long?" 

"  Why,  the  chap's  got  a  sister  up  there,"  answered  the 
other,  "  and  she,  woman  like,  wouldn't  let  him  go  till  she'd 
cried  a  few — that's  all." 

"Well,  I  'spose  we  can  push  ahead  now;"  and  the 
speaker  came  along  side  of  Edgar,  while  the  fourth  per- 
sonage drew  aside  and  was  joined  by  Wesley. 

As  Edgar  now  moved  away  between  the  two  officers,  he 
noted,  with  considerable  misgiving,  that  the  other  two  per- 
sons loitered  about  the  premises,  conversed  in  low  tones, 
and  occasionally  pointed  toward  the  apartments  of  his  sister. 

Could  it  be  possible,  he  mused,  that  they  meditated 
treachery !  And  then,  like  lightning,  the  remembrance 
came  over  him,  of  how  strenuously  Wesley  had  been  in 
urging  his  sister  to  remain.  Perhaps  this  was  some  devilish 
plot  to  remove  him  and  get  her  in  their  possession !  and  he 
felt  his  blood  run  chill  and  his  brain  reel  at  the  thought. 

Halting  abruptly  and  looking  back,  he  said  to  the  offi- 
cers: 

"  Before  I  go  with  you  to  prison,  I  must  return  to  my 
sister :  I  have  something  important  to  tell  her." 

"  Can't  do  it,"  replied  one,  gruffly,  placing  his  hand 
heavily  on  Edgar's  shoulder.  "  You've  kept  us  bothering 
too  long  already,  and  must  come  now  whether  or  no." 

As  the  other  spoke,  Edgar  saw  the  two  figures  slowly 
depart  in  an  opposite  direction,  and  watching  them  dis- 


170  THE   FORGED   WILL. 



appear,  he  strove  to  banish  from  his  mind  all  suspicion  of 
wrong ;  and  turning,  signified  his  readiness  to  proceed. 

With  a  heavy  step  and  heavier  heart,  Edgar  moved 
through  the  streets,  bitterly  reflecting  upon  his  hard  destiny, 
in  having  the  only  cup  of  happiness  he  had  possessed  for 
years,  dashed  suddenly  from  his  lips  at  the  very  moment 
his  wearied  and  thirsty  soul  was  about  to  take  a  refreshing 
draught.  And  what  could  be  the  meaning  of  the  accu- 
sation for  which  he  was  now  held  a  prisoner  !  He  strove 
to  recollect  what  he  had  done,  to  bring  himself  even  under 
the  curse  of  suspicion ;  but  for  a  long  time  he  puzzled  his 
brain  without  success,  when  suddenly  the  truth  flashed 
upon  him  with  almost  overwhelming  force.  His  uncle — his 
base,  inhuman  uncle — was  at  the  bottom  of  it !  Yes,  this 
was  the  cause  of  that  liberality  which  had  so  surprised 
him — this  the  cause  of  that  gleam  of  triumph  which  he  had 
marked  at  the  time,  but  without  a  suspicion  of  what  it 
imported.  And  to  what  extent  had  he  power  to  carry  his 
villainy  ?  He  would  of  course  attempt  to  prove  the  check 
he  had  given  him  a  forged  one.  But  would  he  succeed  ? 
Doubtless  he  already  had  witnesses  bribed  to  swear  falsely ; 
but  notwithstanding,  Edgar  knew  himself  innocent,  and 
could  not  but  believe  that  all  would  turn  out  right  in  the 
end,  and  that  the  black-hearted  baseness  of  his  uncle  would 
recoil  upon  himself  and  his  tools  with  overwhelming  force. 

As  he  came  in  sight  of  the  Egyptian  Tombs,  rearing  its 
massive  walls  high  in  the  starlight  air,  and  standing  out 
vague,  and  dim  and  gloomy  from  its  murky  background, 
the  same  cold,  sickening  shudder  he  had  twice  before  expe- 
rienced, passed  over  his  frame,  and  he  knew  it  now  a  strange 
omen  of  evil.  And  what  singular  feelings  were  his,  as, 
ascending  the  steps,  he  walked  over  the  very  spot  whither 
he  had  borne  the  lovely  Edith,  then  an  unknown  female 
just  rescued  from  peril,  But  now  an  object  in  his  eyes  of  no 


THE   ARREST.  171 


little  interest !  And  with  what  peculiar  emotions  he 
recalled  the  plans  he  had  laid  for  the  morrow,  in  each  of 
which  she  had  formed  a  part,  only  to  know  them  all  swept 
away  by  the  strong  hand  of  destiny,  and  himself  a  prisoner, 
on  his  way  to  the  dungeon  of  the  criminal !  And  with 
what  a  sinking  heart,  a  sense  of  loathing  and  utter  desola- 
tion, he  entered  the  cheerless,  noisome  cell  apportioned 
him,  and  heard  the  harsh  grating  of  the  iron  door  as  it 
swung  to  on  its  rusty  hinges,  shutting  him  from  light,  and 
air,  and  seemingly  from  the  world  forever !  And  lastly, 
when  all  were  gone  and  all  was  silent,  save  the  dull  sound 
of  his  feet,  as  to  and  fro  he  paced  the  rocky  floor  of  his 
present  narrow  abode,  what  a  whirlwind  of  thought,  what 
a  chaos  of  ideas,  crowded  his  feverish  brain,  straining  it  to 
the  verge  of  madness,  and  making  his  very  soul  seem  like 
a  thing  of  flesh  and  blood  filled  with  barbed  irons  dipped 
in  rankling  poison ! 

But  with  all  his  misery — his  mental  anguish — Edgar 
had  an  easy  conscience ;  and  with  this  we  leave  him ;  while 
we  return  to  those  who  were  even  now  taking  the  prelim- 
inary steps  to  a  fearful  retribution. 


CHAPTER  XV. 

THE   PLOT  AND  THE  TRAITOB. 

"I  TELL  you,  Acton,"  said  Wesley  to  his  companion,  as 
they  stood  before  the  lodgings  of  Edgar  and  Virginia,  "  it's 
no  use  to  think  of  venturing  there  now,  for  she'll  know  it's 
some  trick  to  deceive  her ;  so  come  away,  leave  all  to  me, 
and  I'll  make  my  plan  succeed." 

"  Why,  Wesley,  you  see  we  are  here  now,  and  the  bird 
is  caught." 

"  But  surely,  Acton  Atherton,  you're  not  fool  enough  to 
attempt  force  with  a  woman,  when  stratagem  will  succeed 
better.  If  she  should  scream,  we'd  have  the  whole  town 
upon  us."  .  :r  ,, 

"  0,  I  would  only  attempt  the  gentlest  persuasion." 

"  Pshaw  !  what  would  your  persuasion  do  with  her !  And 
see,"  continued  Wesley,  pointing  toward  Edgar,  "  that 
young  scape-grace  has  stopped.  He  likely  suspects  some- 
thing ;  and  if  we  stand  here  much  longer,  we'll  have  him 
back  upon  us.  Come  !  we  must  leave,  if  only  for  policy's 
sake." 

Acton  grumblingly  consented,  and  the  two  worthies 
moved  away  together.  Entering  the  Bowery,  they  shaped 
their  course  to  one  of  the  many,  groggeries  surrounding  the 
theater;  and  passing  through  the  bar-room  into  a  more 
private  apartment,  called  for  a  couple  of  bottles  of  wine, 
over  which  in  low  tones,  they  discussed  the  matter  upper- 
most in  their  minds. 

"But,  Wesley,  how  will  you  manage  it?"  asked  Acton. 
(172) 


THE   PLOT   AND   THE   TRAITOR.  173 

"  As  I  said  before,  leave  that  to  me  and  you'll  see.  But 
I  say,  where'll  you  take  her  to,  Acton  ? — have  you  got  that 
fixed  ?" 

"  Why,  not  exactly :  I  must  take  her  where  I'm  ac- 
quainted, for  there  might  be  trouble  with  strangers.  Ha  ! 
by  Jove,  I  will  do  it !"  he  added,  with  flashing  eyes,  strik- 
ing his  fist  on  the  table  with  a  force  that  made  the  bottles 
and  tumblers  ring  again.  "  Yes,  she  shall  go  there,"  he 
continued,  rather  to  himself  than  his  companion.  "  She 
has  dared  to  threaten  me  to  my  teeth  and  cast  me  off,  and 
I  will  show  her  that  I  can  console  myself  with  the  society 
of  one  more  beautiful  still.  And  then,  peradventure,  she'll 
get  in  a  passion  and  do  some  rash  act — for  of  course  she'll 
be  jealous  of  her  rival.  Well,  so  much  the  better ;  for  if 
she  but  break  the  law  in  one  iota,  I  will  have  her  dragged 
to  prison,  where  I'll  manage  to  keep  her  uiftil  my  wedding 
is  over.  Yes,  by !  I'll  do  it !" 

"And  who  is  this  person  you're  speaking  of?"  asked 
Wesley,  carelessly. 

Acton  gave  a  start  of  surprise. 

"  Well,  that  is  my  business,"  he  answered,  sharply,  now 
for  the  first  time  aware  he  had  been  thinking  aloud. 
"  You  do  your  part,  sir,  and  leave  mine  to  me." 

Wesley  made  no  reply ;  but  there  was  a  peculiar  cun- 
ning expression  on  his  ugly  features,  and  a  malicious 
gleam  in  his  small,  black  eyes,  as  stealthily  he  watched  the 
countenance  of  the  other.  Then  he  said,  in  a  careless 
tone : 

"  By-the-by,  Master  Acton,  have  you  that  fifty  handy  ?" 

"Insolent  dog  !"  returned  the  other,  angrily  ;  "  do  you 
want  your  pay  before  you  do  your  work  ?  Don't  intrude 
mercenary  affairs  upon  me,  when  you  see  I  am  busy  with 
weighty  matters." 

u  So,  so,"  grumbled  Wesley  to  himself — *he  calls  me     .     ! 
15 


174  THE   FORGED   WILL. 

an  insolent  dog,  eh ! — and  his  father  will  make  his  money 
save  him,  eh  !  0  ho,  my  good  masters — we  shall  see — we 
shall  see."  « 

"  What  do  you  think,  Wes  ?"  said  Acton,  in  a  familiar, 
patronising  tone,  intended  perhaps  to  allay  any  harsh  feel- 
ings his  previous  language  might  have  excited,  and  throw- 
ing off  as  he  spoke  a  tumbler  of  wine :  "  think  the  little 
jade  will  he  refractory,  when  she  finds  there  is  no  backing 
out  of  the  matter,  eh  !" 

"  Hardly,"  answered  Wesley. 

"  Sewing  girls,  you  know,"  continued  the  other,  on 
whom  the  wine  already  began  to  take  effect,  "  are  not  apt 
to  be  troublesome — at  least  I — ha,  ha — I  never  found  them 
so.  But  then  you  know,"  he  added,  with  assumed  gravity, 
stroking  his  chin  complacently,  "  there  is  every  thing  in 
the  looks  of  the  person — eh !  Wesley  ?" 

"  Every  thing,"  rejoined  the  other,  quietly,  eyeing  him 
closely. 

A  few  more  turns  at  the  bottle  made  Acton  very  loqua- 
cious, and  he  began  to  talk  of  his  own  private  plans  with 
.less  and  less  reserve.  Urging  the  liquor  upon  him,  but 
taking  care  to  keep  a  cool  brain  himself,  Wesley  watched 
"  his  opportunity ;  and  when  he  found  the  other  in  the  right 
mood  to  be  communicative,  said  : 

"  Between  friends,  you  know,  Master  Acton,  there  should 
be  no  reserve !" 

"  That's  a  fact,"  hiccupped  the  other  ;  "  that's  a  fact, 

by !  What  do  you  want  to  know,  Wes  ?  Eh  !  what 

is  it?" 

"Know?  0,  nothing  in  particular;  only  I  was  just 

thinking  how touchy  you  were  about  that  little  matter 

-of  the  female." 

"  Ha  !  ha  ! — yes,  I  see.  Ah,  you're  a  sly  dog,  Wes,  by 
Jove,  vou  are  I  Well,  now,  I'll  tell  you — for  as  you  say, 


THE   PLOT   AND   THE   TRAITOR.  175 

there  should  be- no  reserve  among  friends,  and  we're  friends 
—eh!  Wesley?" 

"  We're  friends,"  grinned  the  other. 

"  Well  that,  you  see,  was  my  wife.  Stop,  now — that  is, 
you  see,  she  would  have  been  my  wife ;  but  the  priest  or 
minister  that  married  us,  didn't  happen  to  be  either  a  priest 
or  minister.  You  take,  Wes,  eh  ? — ha,  ha,  ha  !" 

"  I  take,"  quietly  rejoined  the  other  ;  and  then  added, 
carelessly,  sipping  his  wine  ;  "  A  good  joke— a  capital 
joke.  But,  by-the-by,  who  is  this  female  ?  and  where 
does  she  live  ?" 

"  0,  she  ? — why,  her  name's  Ellen  Douglas,  and  she  lives 
in  Mott  street." 

"  And  so  she's  going  to  interfere  in  some  wedding  of 
yours,  eh?" 

"  Ha  !  ha  !  yes ;  and  that's  the  richest  joke  of  all. 
Come,  I'll  tell  'you  about  it.  You  must  know  I  have  been 
paying  my  addresses  to  the  fair,  and  lovely,  and  angelic 

Edith  Morton,  and But  stop — her  health  first,  Wesley, 

and  then  to  proceed." 

And  having  drank  her  health,  as  he  termed  it,  with 
drunken  gravity,  Acton  proceeded  to  give  the  other  a  short 
history  of  Ellen  Douglas,  and  of  the  most  important  events 
Which  had  occurred  during  their  acquaintance,  up  to  the  time 
when  he  was  commanded  from  her  presence,  of  all  of  which 
the  reader  has  a  knowledge.  And  then  he  said,  in  conclu- 
sion, with  somewhat  awakened  energy  : 

"  But  she  must  not  interfere  in  this  affair  of  Edith  !  No, 

by !  she  must  not  interfere  there !  Is  there  not  some 

way  to  prevent  it,  Wesley?"  and  he  gave  his  confederate 
a  peculiar  look. 

"  Some  way,"  nodded  Wesley,  catching  the  other's  dark 
meaning. 

"  Yes,"  pursued  Acton,  slowly,  eyeing  the  other  stead- 


176  THE   FORGED   WILL. 

ily,  "  there  is  a  way,  and  I  may  yet  need  your  services. 
If  she  attempt  what  she  has  threatened,  I " 

"May  put  her  out  of  the  way,"  chimed  in  Wesley,  in  a 
low  tone,  as  the  other  paused. 

Acton  started,  his  eyes  gleamed  darkly,  and  reaching 
across  the  table,  he  seized  Wesley's  hand  and  shook  it 
heartily. 

"  You  are  a  clever  fellow,"  he  said  ;  "  you  see  things  at 
a  glance  that  others  might  never  see.  By  Jove  !  I  was 
getting  drunk  just  now — but  the  thought  of  this  affair  has 
made  me  sober  again.  .Come,  as  it  is  not  far  from  here,  by 
Jove,  I'll  show  you  where  Ellen  lives,  and  on  the  way  we 
will  talk  over  the  matter." 

No  proposition,  at  the  moment,  could  have  suited  Wesley 
better ;  for  he  had  deep  schemes  of  his  own  to  concoct ; 
and  to  know  the  abode  of  Ellen,  was  one  of  the  most  im- 
portant steps  towards  their  completion  ;  therefore  he  quickly 
arose  and  signified  his  readiness  to  depart  immediately. 
Acton  had  more  than  once  insulted  him,  but  he  had  passed 
it  by,  simply  because  he  had  seen  no  opportunity  to  revenge 
himself  compatible  with  his  devilish  nature.  To-night  he 
had  called  him  an  insolent  dog ;  and  now  that  he  fancied 
there  was  a  chance  for  deep  and  lasting  retaliation,  he  had 
sworn  in  his  heart  to  execute  it.  To  what  extent  he  suc- 
ceeded will  presently  be  seen. 

By  the  time  Acton  and  Wesley  reached  the  abode  of 
Ellen,  the  former  had  become  perfectly  sober — owing, 
doubtless,  to  the  weakness  of  the  wine  and  the  excited 
state  of  his  feelings — and  already  began  to  regret  having 
made  the  other  his  confidant ;  but  it  was  too  late  now  to 
repent ;  and  so  he  determined,  if  possible,  to  profit  by  a 
sorry  mistake. 

"  That  is  the  house,"  he  said,  pointing  to  the  building 
from  the  opposite  side  of  the  street. 


THE   PLOT   AND   THE   TRAITOR.  177 

"  And  you  design  taking  the  girl  there,  eh  ?"  queried 
Wesley. 

"  Why  that  was  my  intention — but,  by  Jove,  I  hardly 
know  what  to  think  of  it.  Ellen  has  a  high  temper,  and 
may  prove  troublesome." 

"Pshaw!  cannot  you  manage  a  woman?"  sneered 
Wesley. 

"By !  it-shall  be  so!"  cried  the  other,  taking  fire 

at  the  thought.  "  I  will  take  her  there  ;  and  when  she  is 
fairly  mine,  I  will  set  them  face  to  face,  and  show  the 
haughty  Ellen  another  triumph.  I  hate  her — for  twice  has 
she  made  a  coward  of  me — and  I  would  have  her  see  that  I 
have  regained  the  courage  of  a  man,  and  dare  urge  her  to 

do  her  worst.  If  she  attempt  to  harm  me,  by !  I'll 

kill  her  on  the  spot,  and  get  off  by  proving  it  self-defence 
— though  I  would  rather  avoid  so  bold  a  measure,  for  it 
would  of  course  make  a  talk,  and  reach  the  ears  of  Edith, 
But  better  even  that,"  he  added,  in  the  next  breath,  "  than 
have  her  go  there  in  person ;  for  I  could  easily  trump  up 
some  story  to  screen  myself,  and  money  can  buy  all  kinds 
of  evidence.  Yes,  it's  settled — I'll  do  it !"  he  concluded 
abruptly. 

"Eight,"  rejoined  Wesley.  "Now  I'll  tell  you  how  to 
proceed.  You  must  go  back  to  the  place  and  reconnoiter 
till  I  come  with  a  Coach ;  and  then  I'll  manage,  with  your 
assistance,  to  entice  the  girl  into  it,  and  give  you  further 
instructions." 

"  Good !"  said  Acton,  approvingly.  "  Be  quick,  Wesley, 
and  you  shall  find  me  on  hand ;"  and  the  two  worthies 
separated,  going  opposite  directions. 

Wesley  managed,  however,  to  keep  his  eye  on  Acton  till 

he  had  completely  disappeared ;  and  then  hastening  to  the 

abode  of  Ellen,  he  requested  to  see  her  on  business  admit- 

ing  of  no  delay.     He  was  kept  some  time  in  waiting,  but 

15* 


178    -  THE   FORGED   WILL. 

finally  gained  admission,  and  was  conducted  to  her  apart- 
ment. Although  a  rather  advanced  hour,  Ellen  had  not 
yet  retired,  but  was  partly  reclining  on  an  elegant  sofa, 
guitar  in  hand,  singing  a  plaintive  song,  the  following 
words  of  which  sounded  mournfully  in  the  ears  of  Wesley, 
as,  full  of  astonishment  and  admiration,  both  of  the  apart- 
ment and  singer,  he  halted  just  within  the  door,  gazed 
around,  and  listened. 

SONG. 

"My  hope,  alas!  is  o'er, 

My  sun  must  set  in  gloom, 
And  for  me,  nevermore 

All  refreshing  spring  shall  bloom — 
For  my  feet  must  pass  before 

To  the  dark  and  silent  tomb. 

"Shall  we  meet,  mother,  dear, 

When  the  cord  is  cut  in  twain 
Which  doth  bind  my  spirit  here, 

Where  no  sorrow  is  nor  pain  ? 
0  say  thou  wilt  be  near, 

And  thy  child  shall  live  again !" 

She  ceased,  and  laying  aside  her  instrument,  arose  and 
advanced  to  "Wesley,  who  was  still  so  much  amazed  at  what 
he  saw  as  almost  to  forget  his  errand.  Her  pale  features, 
viewed  by  the  soft  light  of  the  apartment,  he  fancied  the 
most  beautiful  he  had  ever  beheld ;  and  he  was  already 
pondering  how  to  address  her,  when  she  relieved  him  by 
Baying : 

"  Well,  sir,  I  understand  you  wish  to  see  me  on  impor- 
tant business !" 

"  I — I — do,"  stammered  Wesley. 

"  Say  on,  then — for  it  must  be  important  that  calls  you 
here  at  this  late  hour.  If  you  have  much  to  say,  perhaps 
vre  had  better  be  seated." 


THE   PLOT   AND   THE   TRAITOR.  179 

"  Not — not  much  to  say,"  rejoined  Wesley,  in  his  bland- 
est tone.  "  Madame — Miss  Ellen,  I  mean — I  hardly  know 
how  to  begin.  I  suppose  you  know  Acton  Atherton  ?" 

Ellen  started,  her  eyes  flashed,  and  her  form  towered 
aloft,  as  she  replied,  haughtily : 

"  If  you  bring  a  message  from  him,  sir,  our  conference 
is  ended." 

"  I  bring  no  message  from  him,  Miss  Ellen — but  I've 
come  to  speak  of  him.  He's  a  villain !" 

"  How  know  you  that  ?"  rejoined  the  other,  quickly. 

"  Because  I  know  him  well,  and  have  known  him  long, 
and  because  it's  of  meditated  villainy  on  his  part  I've  come 
to  see  you." 

"  Say  on,  sir !" 

"  He's  about  to  bring  a  lady  here,  to  this  house,  this 
night,  whom  he  will  entice  away  by  treachery." 

"  Indeed,  sir  !  and  how  know  you  this  ?"  inquired  Ellen, 
eagerly,  changing  color  and  breathing  hard. 

"  Because  he  told  me  so  himself — or  rather,  because  I 
overheard  him  laying  the  plan." 

"Bring  her  here! — brave  me  to  my  face  again  !"  mut- 
tered Ellen,  striving  to  keep  down  her  excited  passions : 
"  Let  him — let  him  if  he  dare !"  And  then  to  "Wesley  : 
"  Well,  sir,  do  you  know  this  female  ?  and  who  is  she  ?  and 
why  come  you  to  me,  when  you  should  be  doing  her  a  service 
by  warning  and  defending  her  as  becomes  a  man  ?" 

"I'll  answer  your  questions  as  you've  asked  them," 
replied  Wesley.  "  This  female  I  know — she's  poor  but 
virtuous — and  I  come  to  you,  that  you  may  render  her 
a  good  service  and  get  her  honest  thanks  for  it.  She'll  be 
enticed  away,  thinking  she  is  going  to  another  place — but 
she'll  be  brought  here,  and  the  rest  I'll  leave  to  you.  If  you 
want  to  revenge  yourself  on  a  black-hearted  villain,  now  is 
your  chance  -to  do  it  by  protecting  her." 


180  THE  FORGED  WILL. 

"But  jvhy  do  you  think  I  desire  revenge?  Do  you 
know  any  thing  of  my  history  ?" 

"If  I  ditl'nt,"  replied  Wesley,  "I'd  never  been  here  on 
this  errand.  I  know  all,  Miss  Ellen — and  I  know  you've 
been  shamefully  abused  and  wronged,  by  one  who  has 
abused  and  wronged  me! (and  his  eyes  gleamed  maliciously,) 
for  which  I'll  be  revenged  if  it  hangs  me  !" 

"  And  so  he  has  made  a  boast  of  my  disgrace,  has  he  ?" 
rejoined  E\len,  in  a  low,  deep  tone,  eyeing  the  other  in- 
tently. 

"  Yes,  time  and  again,  over  his  cups ;  and  he  laughs  at 
your  threats,  and  drinks  toasts  to  your  speedy  passage  to 
another  world." 

For  a  few  moments  Ellen  stood  speechless,  gazing  upon 
Wesley  with  an  expression  that  seemed  to  freeze  his  blood, 
and  made  him  fearful  for  what  he  had  said.  Then  she 
slowly  sunk  upon  an  ottoman,  bowed  her  face  upon  her 
hands,  and  groaned  as  one  suffering  the  extreme  of  bodily 
pain.  Wesley  did  not  venture  another  remark,  till  again 
looking  up,  with  truly  haggard  features,  she  broke  the 
gloomy  silence)  by  saying : 

"  And  who  is  this  new  victim  ?  You  have  not  yet  told 
me  who  she  is." 

"  Why  she's  a  poor  orphan  girl  that  came  to  this  city 
some  time  ago,  with  her  mother  and  brother,  expecting  to 
get  money  from  a  rich  uncle  here.  But  she  and  they  were 
disappointed,  I  believe,  and  the  old  woman  took  on  and 
died  about  it ;  and  she  and  her  brother,  as  I  understand, 
have  had  a  rather  hard  time  to  get  along.  Not  more  than 
three  hours  ago,  her  brother  was  arrested  for  forgery — and 
of  the  peril  she's  in  I've  already  told  you." 

"  Her  name  ?"  almost  shrieked  Ellen,  springing  up  so 
suddenly  that  Wesley  involuntarily  took  a  step  backwards. 
"  Her  name  ?"  she  cried  again,  starting  fonvard  and  sciz- 


THE   PLOT   AND   THE   TRAITOR.  181 

ing  the  astonished  attorney  by  the  arm,  who  looked  as  if 
he  doubted  her  sanity.  "Speak!"  she  continued  vehe- 
mently :  "  tell  me  the  name  of  this  girl !" 

"Why,  perhaps  I  should  be " 

"Nay,  her  name  ?  her  name  ?"  interrupted  Ellen,  stamp- 
ing her  foot  impatiently.  "  Is  it  Courtly  ?  Do  you  speak 
of  Edgar  and  Virginia  Courtly  ?" 

"  What !  you  know  them  ?"  rejoined  Wesley,  all  amaze- 
ment. 

"  Ha  !  it  is  so — it  is  so  !"  cried  Ellen,  almost  frantic  with 
passion.  "  The  wre.tch  !  the  villain  !  the  monster  ! — and 
he  dares  assail  her  virtue — his  own  flesh  and  blood,  as  it 
were !  Ham  like,  he  should  be  cursed  to  all  posterity, 
and  die  the  death  of  a  brute — unwept,  unpitied,  and 
unremembered,  save  with  loathing  !  0,  I  could  tear  him 
in  pieces  for  the  thought !  Let  him  but  harm  a  hair  of  her 
innocent,  unprotected  head,  and  by  the  Justice  Seat  of 
Heaven,  I  swear  to  follow  and  drag  him  to  an  early  grave, 
and  to  endless  perdition  !  His  own  cousin  ! — his  father's 
sister's  child  !  0,  Heaven  !  what  a  wretch !" 

"  But  he  don't  know  she's  his  cousin,"  put  in  Wesley, 
as  the  other  paused. 

"  Indeed  !  are  you  sure  ?"  cried  Ellen,  catching  at  the 
thought. 

"  Sure,"  answered  the  other. 

"  And  do  you  think  this  knowledge  would  make  any 
difference  with  him  ?" 

"  Think  it  would." 

"  I  have  it,  then !"  said  Ellen,  triumphantly.  "  Let 
him  bring  her  here  ;  and  if  he  have  one  iota  of  a  man's\ 
soul  in  his  breast,  he  shall,  ere  he  leave  this  house,  be 
made  to  curse  himself  as  the  meanest  thing  that  walks  the 
face  of  the  earth.  And  Edgar  dragged  to  prison  !"  she 
continued,  looking  straight  at  Wesley  :  "  Oh,  there  is  foul 


182  THE   FORGED   WILL. 

wrong  somewhere,  which  the  guilty  shall  yet  tremble  for  ! 
God  help  the  right,  and  shield  the  innocent  from  hell's 
own  dire  inventions !  And  how  soon  will  Virginia  be 
here  ?" 

"  Soon,"  was  the  answer. 

"  Go,  then,  sir ;  and  if  you  have  aught  to  do  with  this 
dark  scheme,  help  it  to  succeed.  Your  part — if,  as  I 
fancy,  you  have  one  in  the  game — shall  be  winked  at,  for 
the  important  information  you  have  given  me." 

"  I've  told  you  before,"  replied  Wesley,  "  I  seek  revenge 
on  Acton  Atherton  ;  and  besides,  the  girl  is  a  sweet  crea- 
ture to  look  at;  she  never  wronged  me,  and  I'd  save  her 
from  harm." 

"  Go,  then,  and  rest  satisfied,  that,  once  here  with  his 
fair  cousin,  you  shall  be  revenged  on  Acton,  and  Virginia 
shall  escape  scatheless.  Go,  now — for  I  have  plans  of  my 
own  to  perfect,  and  would  be  alone." 

"  I  obey,  Miss  Ellen,"  answered  the  attorney,  respect- 
fully ;  and  bowing,  he  departed. 

So  soon  as  she  was  once  more  by  herself,  Ellen  rung  a 
bell ;  and  to  the  domestic  who  answered  it,  she  said,  in  a 
commanding  tone : 

"I  would  speak  with  Madame  Costellan." 

The  servant  withdrew :  and  in  a  few  minutes  Ellen  was 
joined  by  the  person  whose  presence  she  desired — a  hand- 
some female,  richly  dressed,  and  scarcely  turned  of  thirty 
years.  With  her,  Ellen  held  a  short  but  eager  conference, 
the  nature  of  which  it  is  needless  for  us  here  to  disclose. 


CHAPTER  XVI. 

THE  ABDUCTION. 

HURRYING  to  the  nearest  coach-stand,  Wesley  sprung 
into  the  first  vehicle  he  came  to,  and  bade  the  driver  urge 
his  horses  to  Elizabeth  street,  as  if  life  and  death  depended 
on  his  speed.  When  the  carriage  stopped  at  the  place 
designated,  he  leaped  out  in  haste,  and  was  immediately 
joined  by  Acton,  who  said,  in  a  low  tone : 

"  Curses  on  your  laziness,  Wes !  I  have  been  waiting 
till  the  marrow  of  my  bones  seems  frozen.  Had  you 
delayed  five  minutes  longer,  I  should  have  been  cosily 
making  love  to  that  pretty  seamstress  up  there,  and  warm- 
ing myself  by  her  cheerful  fire." 

"And  you'd  have  spoiled  all  by  doing  so,"  replied  the 
other;  "and  my  plan  would  not  have  been  worth  repeat- 
ing." 

"  I  don't  know  about  that.  I  think  the  girl  would  have 
been  perfectly  satisfied  with  such  a  good  looking  gallant 
by  her  side ;"  and  again  he  stroked  his  chin,  as  was  his 
wont  when  egotism  led  him  to  compliment  himself.  "  But 
I  didn't  do  it,  Wesley,  you  know ;  and  so  for  the  plan  at 
once — for  I  am  very  impatient  to  be  off." 

"  Well,  you  must  remember  and  follow  my  instructions 
to  the  letter,  or  all's  up  with  us.  In  the  first  place,  you 
must  be  very  civil  to  the  girl — must  not  even  ask  her  her 
name — and  only  speak  when  she  questions  you,  and  then 
only  to  answer  her." 

"  What !  and  must  I  not  make  love,  eh  ?" 

(183) 


184  THE   FORGED  WILL. 

"  Pshaw  !  be  done  with  your  nonsense.  The  girl  thinks 
she's  going  to  be  taken  to  a  friend's  house,  a  long  ways 
off,  which  she  never  saw  nor  the  friends  either." 

"  Good !  I  like  that — it  is  capital.  But  what  is  her 
name,  Wes  ?" 

"  Hush !  You  must  of  course  take  a  long  ride  before 
you  come  to  Mott  street ;  and  no  matter  what  she  asks  or 
asserts,  you  must  pretend  to  know  all  about  it,  and  answer 
to  please  her." 

"  Good  again — that  I  can  do." 

"  May  be  she'll  think  she  knows  the  place,  and  that  it 
isn't  her  friend's  house;  but  you-must  swear  it  is,  you 
know,  and  say  the  resemblance  is  great,  and  so  on." 

"  I  understand." 

"  And  then,  when  you've  once  got  her  under  cover,  why 
you  know  what  to  do  better  than  I  can  tell  you." 

"  Right  there,  my  diamond  !" 

"  Your  own  name,  for  the  present,  is  Mr.  "Wallace,  and 
you're  a  particular  friend  of  the  Mortons." 

"  What  Mortons  ?"  inquired  Acton,  quickly,  in  an  altered 
tone. 

"  0,  hang  it !  any  Mortons  to  suit  her." 

"Bravo!— ha,  ha,  I  take." 

"  And  that's  all.  Now  I'll  go  and  bring  her  down  to 
you,  and  you  can  tell  the  driver  where  to  go." 

Saying  which,  Wesley  separated  from  Acton,  and  ascend- 
ing the  stairs,  knocked  at  Virginia's  door.  In  a  moment 
it  cautiously  opened,  and  the  latter,  all  pale,  and  tearful, 
and  seemingly  heart-broken,  stood  before  him.  A  sight 
of  her  disconsolate  appearance,  and  the  remembrance  of 
its  being  caused  by  his  own  villany,  somewhat  touched 
the  callous  heart  of  even  Nathan  Wesley,  and  he  muttered 
to  himself: 

"  If  it  wasn't  I  know  no  harm  '11  come  to  her — curse  me 


THE   ABDUCTION.  185 


if  I'd  go  on  with  this  affair  any  further  !  As  it  is,  she'll 
think  me  a  scoundrel,  and  so  will  Ellen.  But  no  matter  ; 
I've  been  so  considered  all  my  life,  and  might  as  well  have 
the  game  as  the  blame." 

Then  addressing  her : 

"  Well,  Miss  Courtly,"  he  said,  "  the  coach  is  at  the 
door,  and  Mr.  Wallace  waits  with  it  to  conduct  you  to  the 
Mortons,  who  will  be  happy  to  see  you  as  soon  as  possible." 

"  You  have  seen  them  then  ?"  said  Virginia,  eagerly .t 

"  Have  seen  them." 

"And  what  said  they  of  my  brother?" 

"  Why,  that  you  needn't  give  yourself  any  uneasiness, 
Miss  Courtly — that  he'd  soon  be  free." 

"  Thanks  !  thanks  !  sir,  for  your  kindness  !  Oh,  poor 
Edgar  !  how  much  he  has  to  suffer !  and  then  to  sleep  in  a 
prison !" 

"  I  beg  pardon,  ma'am,"  interrupted  Wesley,  who  was 
fearful  of  a  scene,  and  impatient  to  take  himself  off:  "I 
beg  pardon — but  the  coach  is  waiting,  and  Mr.  Wallace 
bade  me  ask  you  would  hurry,  as  it  is  already  late." 

"I  will  be  ready  in  a  moment,"  returned  Virginia;  and 
hastily  covering  the  fire,  putting  on  her  bonnet  and  shawl, 
she  blew  out  the  light,  locked  the  door,  and  accompanied 
Wesley  down  stairs. 

The  coach  was  standing  ready,  with  the  door  open ;  and 
assisting  Virginia  into  it,  Wesley  motioned  Acton,  who 
stood  at  a  little  distance,  to  approach,  when  he  simply 
introduced  him  as  Mr.  Wallace.  Then  seeing  him  seated 
by  Virginia,  he  shut  the  door,  and  sung  out  to  the  driver 
that  all  was  right.  Crack  went  the  whip,  and  away  rolled 
the  carriage,  to  the  great  satisfaction  of  the  attorney,  who, 
watching  it  out  of  sight,  shook  his  fist  after  it,  and  mut- 
tered : 

"You  called  me  an  insolent  dog  to-night,  did  you* 
K5 


186  THE   FORGED   WILL. 


Master  Acton?  and  your  father  says  he'll  make  his  money 
gave  him !  By  my  soul !  I'm  neither  a  dog  nor  a  fool,  as 
you  hoth  shall  find  out  to  your  cost  before  many  days  ;" 
and  chuckling  inwardly  at  some  scheme  of  his  own,  he 
turned  away  and  directed  his  steps  to  Mott  street. 

Stationing  himself  nearly  opposite  the  lodgings  of  Ellen, 
Wesley  rather  impatiently  awaited  the  arrival  of  the  vehi- 
cle containing  the  cousins.  And  sorely  was  his  patience 
tried ;  for  it  was  a  cold  night,  and  a  full  hour  before  the 
carriage  made  its  appearance.  But  it  came  at  last,  stopped 
at  the  right  place,  and  immediately  the  figure  of  a  man 
sprung  from  it,  assisting  a  female  to  alight.  The  latter 
looked  around  curiously,  and  then  Wesley  heard  her  say : 

"  Why  is  this  Calvin  Morton's  ?" 

"  Calvin  Morton's!"  exclaimed  Acton,  in  astonishment ; 
and  then  remembering  Wesley's  instructions,  he  quickly 
added  :  "  Ah — yes — 0,  I  had  forgot.  Yes,  this  is  the 
place — this  is  Morton's.*' 

"  Strange !"  said  Virginia,  glancing  round,  and  over 
the  way,  to  the  very  spot  where  her  poor  mother  had 
breathed  her  last.  "  It  all  looks  very  familiar  to  me,  and 
I  could  almost  make  oath  I  stand  in  Mott  street." 

"  Yes,"  said  Acton,  hurriedly,  and  rapping  heavily  on 
the  door — "  there  is  some  resemblance,  I  own.  How  tardy 
servants  are,"  he  continued,  for. the  purpose  of  engaging 
the  other's  attention  till  he  could  get  her  within  the  house. 
"  I  am  sometimes  completely  out  of  patience,  waiting  their 
sJow  motions.  Ah,  here  is  one  at  last !"  he  added,  as  he 
heard  the  rattling  of  bolts  and  chains;  and  almost  at  the 
same  moment  the  door  opened  slightly,  and  a  voice  from 
within  said: 

"Who's  there?" 

"  It  is  I — Mr.  Wallace,"  answered  Acton,  loudly ;  and 
then  in  a  hurried  whisper,  too  low  to  reach  the  ears  of  Vir- 


THE   ABDUCTION.  187 


ginia,  added:  "Acton  Atherton,  with  a  lady.  Open 
quick,  and  call  me  Wallace !" 

The  door  immediately  swung  open,  and  Mr.  Wallace 
was  politely  invited  to  enter. 

"  This  is  the  lady  of  whom  I  went  in  quest,"  he  con- 
tinued, slyly  winking  at  the  attendant.  "  Show  me  up 
stairs,  and  (winking  again)  send  Mrs.  Morton  to  us  at 
once."  Then  watching  his  opportunity,  he  whispered  in 
the  attendant's  ear :  "  Conduct  us  to  the  Green  Room,  as 
we  call  it,  and  send  your  mistress  after  a  little,  and  tell 
her  my  name  is  Wallace,  and  hers  Morton.  I  have  a 
beauty  to  tame,  you  see.  Isn't  she  pretty  ?" 

The  other  nodded  and  smiled. 

"  And  how  is  Ellen  ?" 

"  Not  well." 

"  Curse  her !  she  always  was  getting  sick,  and  so  I've 
picked  up  something  better.  But  mum !  Not  a  word  to 
her  of  this !" 

Then  joining  Virginia,  Acton  said  he  had  just  been 
giving  the  servant  a  few  instructions,  and  forthwith  con- 
ducted her  into  a  very  handsomely  furnished  apartment, 
though  possessing  nothing  of  the  gorgeousness  of  Ellen's, 
from  which  a  door  opened  into  a  bed-room,  of  which  this 
was  the  ante-room  or  parlor.  A  jet  of  gas  sent  forth  a 
soft,  pleasant  light,  and  a  cheerful  fire  was  burning  in  the 
grate.  Placing  a  couple  of  chairs  before  the  latter,  Acton 
requested  Virginia  to  remove  her  bonnet  and  shawl  and 
be  seated.  Scarcely  had  she  done  so*,  when  the  door 
opened,  and  the  mistress  of  the  house,  familiarly  known  as 
Madame  Costellan,  entered.  Acton  rose  and  introduced 
her  to  Virginia  as  Mrs.  Morton,  but  did  not  introduce  Vir- 
ginia to  her,  for  the  simple  reason  he  did  not  know  her 
name  himself,  owing  to  the  cunning  precaution  of  Wesley, 
who  rightly  judged  such  knowledge  would  ruin  his  scheme ; 


188  THE   FORGED   WILL. 


for  base  as  Acton  Atherton  was,  lie  had  a  family  pride, 
and  would  just  as  soon  have  meditated  the  cutting  of  his 
own  throat  as  treating  his  kinswoman  in  this  scandalous 
manner. 

But  circumstances  had  completely  deceived  him  in  this 
matter.  In  the  first  place,  his  plotting  father  had  never 
told  either  of  his  children  that  the  Courtlys  were  in  the 
city — in  fact,  he  never  at  any  time  mentioned  the  name  of 
Courtly  in  their  presence — and  hence,  neither  dreamed  of 
having  indigent  relations  so  near.  In  the  next  place, 
Acton  had  seen  Virginia  for  the  first  time  when  she  was 
procuring  work,  as  already  recorded;  and  struck  with  her 
beauty,  and  believing  her  an  ordinary  seamstress,  had  made 
the  insulting  advances  which  were  checked  by  Dudley, 
whom  he  knew  as  an  honorable  young  man,  and  therefore 
little  cared  to  meet  under  such  humiliating  circumstances. 
He  had  apparently  taken  an  entirely  different  course  than 
the  one  pursued  by  Dudley  and  Virginia;  but,  notwith- 
standing, had  kept  them  in  view,  and  traced  the  latter  to 
her  own  quarters.  Returning  home,  he  had  related  his 
adventure  to  Wesley,  whom  he  had  long  before  discovered 
an  adept  in  the  arts  of  villainy,  and  offered  him  fifty  dol- 
lars if  he  would  find  a  way  to  place  this  girl  in  his  power. 
Wesley,  ever  ready  to  gain  money,  without  any  scrupulous 
as  to  honesty,  soon  reconnoitered  the  premises,  and  found, 
much  to  his  surprise  and  gratification,  it  was  the  abode  of 
Edgar  and  Virginia,  for  whom  he  had  been  searching  since 
their  removal  from  Matt  street.  This  fact  he  at  once  made 
known  to  the  millionaire,  but  concealed  from  Acton,  well 
aware  that  to  inform  him  the  girl  was  his  own  cousin, 
would  be  to  lose  himself  the  fifty  dollars,  besides  a  little 
quiet  revenge,  which  he  had  determined  on  from  the  first 
in  order  to  wipe  out  old  scores.  As  chance  would  have  it, 
and  as  he  partially  expected.  \Yesley  was  enabled  to 


THE   ABDUCTION.  189 


kill  two  birds  with  one  stone ;  for  the  arrest  of  Edgar  gave 
him  an  opportunity  to  entrap  Virginia,  in  what  manner  the 
reader  has  already  seen.  At  first  Wesley  had  thought  of 
nothing  more  than  to  gain  his  reward  and  revenge,  by 
getting  Acton  to  abduct  his  cousin,  and  leaving  him  to  his 
own  chagrin,  mortification  and  disappointment  when  he 
should  become  aware  of  the  fact,  which  he  doubted  not 
would  occur  in  time  to  avoid  serious  consequences.  But 
•when  Acton  again  insulted  him,  he  determined  to  be  more 
deeply  revenged  ;  and  therefore,  guided  by  circumstances, 
took  the  course  already  described. 

Wearing  different  habiliments — never  having  scanned 
his  features  closely,  and  her  mind,  too,  being  otherwise 
occupied — Virginia  had  not  yet  recognized  in  Acton  the 
individual  who  once  insulted  her. 

Having  thus,  we  trust,  explained  every  thing  to  the 
satisfaction  of  the  reader,  we  will  again  take  up  the  thread 
of  our  story. 

On  being  introduced  as  Mrs.  Morton,  Madame  Costellan 
bowed  to  her  guest,  eyeing  her  closely  the  while,  and  then 
advancing,  offered  her  her  hand  and  bade  her  welcome.  But 
she  had  a  part  of  her  own  to  play,  under  the  directions  of 
Ellen ;  and  turning  to  Acton,  she  whispered  a  few  words 
in  his  ear,  and  both  left  the  apartment  together.  Scarcely 
had  the  door  closed  behind  them,  when  it  again  opened 
quickly,  and  Ellen  Douglas,  entering  in  haste,  flew  to  Vir- 
ginia, her  features  very  pale  and  her  step  nervous  with 
excitement.  Surprised^  yet  pleased  to  see  her  where  she 
least  expected,  Virginia  started  to  her  feet,  with  a  smile  of 
recognition,  and  extending  her  hand,  exclaimed: 

"  You  here,  Ellen  Douglas?" 

"  Rather  let  me  say,  you  here)  Virginia  Courtly ! — alas  ! 
poor  girl!  you  little  dream  where!" — said  the  other  hur- 
riedly. 

16* 


190  THE   FORGED   WILL. 

"  What  mean  you  ?"  asked  Virginia,  alarmed  at  Ellen's 
tone  and  manner. 

"  That  you  are  in  the  snares  of  a  villain,  who,  but  for 
the-  treachery  of  a  confederate,  might  soon  have  had 
another  damning  sin  added  to  his  long  catalogue,  already 
stretched  beyond  God's  mercy." 

"  You  alarm  me  ! — you  speak  in  riddles — I  cannot  com- 
prehend !" 

"  Poor  girl !  you  little  know  you  are  beneath  a  roof 
which  covers  none  but  guilty  heads." 

"  And  are  the  Mortons,  then,  so  base?" 

"The  Mortons!"  cried  Ellen,  in  her  turn  astonished; 
"  what  Mortons?" 

"Is  not/this  the  house  of  Calvin  Morton,  to  which  my 
brother,  who  has  just  been  dragged  to  prison  for  a  crime 
he  never  committed,  bade  me  instantly  repair  ?" 

"Calvin  Morton!"  exclaimed  Ellen,  still  more  asto- 
nished :  "  Are  you  then  acquainted  with  him  or  his  family  ?" 

"  I  am  not — but  Edgar  is.  Good  heavens  !  what  do  you 
mean,  Ellen?  Am  I  not  beneath  his  roof!" 

"  I  would  to  God  you  were  !  No !  you  are  beneath  the 
roof  that  has  long  sheltered  me — within  a  stone's  throw  of 
where  your  poor  mother  died." 

"  Merciful  God  ! — do  you  speak  truth  ? — you  set  my 
poor  brain  in  a  whirl  of  bewilderment!" 

"No  wonder,  girl,  if  you  fancied  yourself  secure  at 
Calvin  Morton's.  You  have  been  deceived,  Virginia — 
wofully  deceived — and  by  the  same  villain  who  first  deceived 
me — whom  I  once  loved  but  now  hate — your  own  cousin — 
Acton  Atherton," 

"Impossible!"  gasped  Virginia,  too  much  astonished, 
alarmed  and  bewildered  to  say  more. 

"  All  true  as  holy  writ !  It  was  Acton  Atherton  that 
brought  you  here — but  by  what  juggler's  art  I  know  not. 


THE    ABDUCTION.  191 


Tell  me  how  it  chanced,  and  I  in  return  will  tell  you  what 
I  know.  Be  quick,  or  we  may  be  interrupted  before  my 
plans  are  completed  !"  and  hurriedly  Virginia  and  Ellen 
related  to  each  other  the  prominent  events  of  the  night. 

"  You  are  supposed,"  said  Ellen,  in  conclusion,  "  to  be  a 
poor,  unprotected  girl,  and  are  brought  here  for  the  worst 
of  purposes — that  Acton  Atherton  may  triumph  over  me. 
But  I  have  him,  and  he  shall  sneak  from  this  house  like  a 
whipped  cur ! — or,"  she  added,  with  a  wild,  vindictive 
glare,  "  he  shall  hence  on  a  journey  that  sends  no  travellers 
back.  Calm  your  agitation — act  as  though  nothing  had 
occurred  to  annoy  you — let  him  draw  himself  into  his  own. 
devilish  snare.  Fear  not ;  all  is  arranged  ;  no  harm  shall 
come  to  you.  He  knows  you  not  yet — but  he  shall,  and  to 
his  sorrow.  I  will  be  near  you — so  fear  not !  Hark !  I 
hear  steps.  I  must  conceal  myself.  Remember  !  be  calm 
and  firm  !"  and  Ellen  sprung  into  the  adjoining  apartment, 
leaving  Virginia  half  frightened  out  of  her  senses,  just  as 
the  other  door  opened  and  admitted  Acton  Atherton, 

"  I  beg  pardon  for  keeping  you  so  long  waiting  alone !" 
he  said,  blandly,  searching  in  vain  on  both  sides  of  the  lock 
for  the  key,  which  the  wise  precaution  of  Ellen  had  removed. 
"  Curse  it !"  he  muttered  to  himself,  as  he  closed  the  door 
and  sprung  a  bolt,  which  might  prevent  ingress  if  not 
egress;  and  then  turning  to  Virginia,  he  added,  with  a 
smile,  and  in  the  softest  tone  he  could  assume  :  "  Mrs. 
Morton  wished  to  see  me  on  a  little  private  business — but 
I  fear  my  absence  has  made  the  time  tedious.  Ha  !"  he 
ejaculated,  for  the  first  time  marking  the  agitation  of  Vir- 
ginia, and  coming  close  to  her ;  "  what  has  happened  to 
make  you  tremble  so,  and  look  so  pale  ?" 

"I  am  not  well,"  she  answered,  shuddering  and  turning 
away  her  head. 

t;I^ay,  sAvcct  girl,"  he  said,  placing  one  hand  carelessly 


192  THE   FORGED   WILL. 

on  her  shoulder,  "  do  not  turn  away  from  one  who  loves 
you." 

With  the  bound  of  a  tiger  springing  upon  its  prey,  Vir- 
ginia leaped  from  her  seat,  and  with  heaving  bosom  and 
flashing  eyes  boldly  confronted  her  cousin.  As  she  did  so, 
she  for  the  first  time  became  aware  that  he  who  now  stood 
before  her  was  the  same  who  had  once  insulted  her. 

"  Ha  !  I  know  you  now,"  she  said,  indignantly.  "This 
is  not  the  first  time  we  have  met.  Go !  I  would  not  see 
your  face  again.  Go  !  and  send  my  friends  to  me." 

"  I  am  your  friend,"  rejoined  Acton  ;  "  the  best  friend 
you  have  in  the  world.  See  here,"  and  he  proffered  her  a 
well  filled  purse. 

Crimson  with  shame  and  indignation,  Virginia  looked 
him  defiantly  in  the  eye  for  a  moment,  and  then  said,  with 
assumed  composure,  and  in  a  tone  peculiar  for  its  deter- 
mined distinctness : 

"  Go,  sir,  ere  I  call  those  here  who  will  chastise  you  for 
a  scoundrel !" 

Acton  laughed. 

"  Do  not  think  to  intimidate  me,  my  pretty  one,"  he 
said :  "  I  have  tamed  many  a  one  as  wild  as  you.  Come  ! 
let  me  swear  to  you  I  love  you." 

"  And  swear  falsely,  villain !" 

"  No,  on  my  honor,  truly  !  1  love  you,  and  you  alone  ; 
and  it  was  to  tell  you  my  love  I  brought  you  here." 

"  Here  !"  echoed  Virginia,  in  pretended  surprise,  carry- 
ing out  the  instructions  of  Ellen.  "  Did  I  not  come  here 
at  my  own  request  ?" 

"Not  exactly!" 

"  How  so?     Is  not  this  the  house  of  Calvin  Morton?" 

"  Calvin  Morton  !"  exclaimed  Acton,  turning  pale,  and 
his  whole  manner  changing,  "  Do  you  then  know  Calvin 
Morton  or  his  family  ?" 


THE   ABDUCTION.  193 


"  0,  no  !"  answered  Virginia  ;  "but  I  have  understood 
he  is  a  great  lawyer,  and  my  brother  wished  me  to  see 
him." 

"0,  yes,"  rejoined  Acton,  greatly  relieved,  "he  is  a 
great  lawyer,  and  to-morrow  I  will  take  you  to  him,  and 
will  go  bail  for  your  brother  besides — that  is,"  he  added, 
"  if  you  will  not  treat  my  love  with  disdain.  I  have  de- 
ceived you  in  bringing  you  here,  I  admit ;  but  then  you  will 
recollect  it  was  done  for  love,  and  forgive  me — will  you  not, 
my  little  beauty  ?" 

Virginia  replied  not ;  and  Acton,  fancying  he  had  made 
some  impression,  proceeded  in  a  still  softer  and  more  mu- 
sical strain  : 

"  0,  if  you  did  but  know  how  ardently  I  love  you — how 
I  have  pined  for  your  sweet  presence  ever  since  I  first  be- 
held you — how  I  have  sworn  to  prize  and  adore  you  above 
all  others — I  am  sure  you  would  let  your  beautiful  eyes,  in 
which  there  is  a  heaven  of  blue,  look  pityingly  upon  me  and 
bid  me  hope !  Come,  dearest,  sit  thee  down,  and  let  me 
breathe  my  tale  of  holy  love  into,  I  trust,  a  not  unwilling 
ear  !"  and  he  approached  to  take  her  hand. 

"  Off!"  cried  Virginia,  playing  her  part ;  "  you  do  not 
love  me !" 

"  By  heavens,  I  do  !  By  all  things  bright  and  beauti- 
ful, on  earth  or  above  earth — by  all  the  beaming  stars, 
which  are  no  match  for  your  sparkling  eyes — I  swear  to 
you  I  love  you,  and  only  you — that  I  never  loved  before, 
and  never  will  again  !" 

"  Then  if  y^u  love  me,  you  will  do  what  I  command." 
"  Any  thing,  my  angel — only  name  it,  and  it  shall  be 
done." 

"  Stand  aside,  then,  and  let  me  pass,  and  do  not  attempt 
to  follow,"  returned  Virginia,  resolutely,  taking  a  step  or 
two  toward  the  door,  as  if  to  quit  the  apartment. 


194  THE   FORGED   WILL. 

"  Nay,  not  that — any  thing  but  that !"  cried  Acton, 
springing  forward  and  intercepting  her.  "  You  must  not 
leave  here  so  soon." 

"  What,  sir  !  — dare  you  stop  me  ?  Begone,  I  tell  you, 
or  I  will  alarm  the  house  !" 

"  Well,  then,"  answered  Acton,  with  a  smile  of  triumph, 
"  I  may  as  well  inform  you,  that  your  alarming  the  house, 
as  you  call  it,  will  avail  you  nothing,  since  it  is  well  under- 
stood here  that  you  and  I  are  lovers.  None,  I  assure  you, 
•will  interfere,  even  should  you  cry  your  lungs  hoarse ;  so 
make  your  calculations  accordingly." 

"But  I  will  pass  !"  persisted  Virginia. 

"Nay,  you  shall  not!"  cried  Acton,  catching  hold  of 
her  ;  "  and  for  the  attempt,  even,  I  will  have  a  kiss,  if  I 
die  for  it." 

Virginia  gave  a  piercing  scream,  and  struggled  violently 
to  escape — but  in  vain. 

"Be  quiet,  do  !"  said  Acton :  "  I  tell  you  I  will  have  a 
kiss,  and  resistance  is  useless ;"  and  as  he  struggled  to 
make  good  his  boast,  Virginia  screamed  again. 

At  this  moment,  a  third  figure,  unseen  by  Acton,  glided 
swiftly  to  his  side,  and  the  voice  of  Ellen  sounded  in  his 
ear. 

"Wretch!"  she  cried;  "guilty  wretch!  what  do  you 
with  the  innocent  more  ? — Have  you  not  damned  your  soul 
enough  already  ?" 

"Ha  !"  exclaimed  Acton,  turning  fierce  upon  the  intru- 
der, almost  overpowered  with  surprise  and  rage  :  "  What 
do  you  here,  interfering  with  my  affairs  ?" 

"  I  come  to  protect  the  unprotected — to  guard  the  in- 
nocent— to  right  the  wronged  and  curse  the  guilty  !  For 
shame,  vile  wretch  that  you  are — base  miscreant — for 
shame  !  Down  on  your  knees  and  sue  for  the  pardon  of 
her  who  is  your  equal  in  birth,  as  she  is  your  superior  in 


THE   ABDUCTION.  195 


virtue  so  much  as  Heaven  is  of  Hell !  Is  it  not  enough 
that  you  would  wrong  and  have  wronged  those  who  are  no 
kin  to  you,  but  you  must  bring  your  hellish  deeds  home 
upon  your  own  relation — your  father's  sister's  child?" 

"  What  is  the  meaning  of  this?"  cried  Acton,  all  amaze- 
ment. 

"  It  means,  vile  dog  !  that  you  have  this  night  enticed 
away,  for  a  base  purpose,  your  own  poor  cousin,  Virginia 
Courtly ;  and  that  but  for  a  more  honest  villain  than  your- 
self, you  might  have  been  guilty  of  a  crime  for  which  slow 
death  on  the  rack  were  the  only  adequate  punishment  !" 

"  My  cousin  !"  exclaimed  Acton,  looking  at  Virginia. 
"Impossible  !  This  is  some  trick  to  deceive  me  !  I  have 
no  cousins  in  the  city — the  Courtlys  are  in  Baltimore." 

"  On  my  part,"  returned  Virginia,  "  there  is  no  deceit. 
As  sure  as  your  name  is  Acton  Atherton,  mine  is  Virginia 
Courtly ;  and  as  sure  as  you  are  the  son  of  Oliver  Atherton, 
I  am  the  child  of  his  late  sister,  and  your  own  cousin 
by  birth,  though  I  shame  to  own  it,  and  would  to  Heaven 
I  could  sunder  the  tie  of  consanguinity." 

"  Hear  you  that,  most  monstrous  of  monsters !"  hissed 
Ellen  in  his  ear.  "  Go  !  take  your  worthless  body  hence  ! 
— crawl  away  like  a  thrice-beaten  cur  ! — and  the  next  time 
you  attempt  to  triumph  over  me,  entice  your  own  sister  to  be 
your  companion,  and  be  sure  you  have  neither  confidants 
nor  confederates !" 

"  By !  there  is  such  a  thing  as  goading  me  too  far, 

Ellen  Douglas ;  and  though  I  played  the  coward  twice  to 
you — mark  me  !  I  will  never  do  it  again:  so  beware,  ere 
you  crowd  a  desperate  man  too  far  !" 

"  You  fancy  yourself  desperate  and  no  coward  ?"  asked 
Ellen,  quickly,  with  a  singular,  almost  unearthly  gleam  in 
her  dark  eye,  which  she  fixed  piercingly  upon  Acton's. 

"  I  fancy  myself  both,"  replied  Acton :  "  so  be  careful  !" 


196  .        THE   FORGED   WILL. 

"Now  will  I  prove  you,"  she  cried,  triumphantly.' 
"  Here  are  two  vials,  (holding  one  in  each  hand)  both  alike, 
and  both  contain  the  deadliest  of  poison.  If  you  are  des- 
perate, and  not  a  coward,  now  is  the  time  to  wipe  out  your 
disgrace.  I  dare  you  to  the  trial !  Drain  one,  and  I  will 
the  other ;"  and  she  reached  both  toward  him,  that  he 
might  take  his  choice. 

At  first  Acton  turned  pale  and  took  a  step  back,  as  if 
aghast  at  the  idea.  The  next  moment  a  malicious  smile  of 
triumph  flashed  over  his  features  and  sparkled  in  his  eyes ; 
and  seizing  one  of  the  vials,  he  threw  out  the  cork  suddenly, 
and  crying,  "  I  accept  your  challenge,"  placed  it  to  his 
lips. 

Quick  as  lightning  Ellen  imitated  the  movement,  and 
would  have  drank,  but  for  Virginia,  who,  with  a  scream  of 
terror,  sprung  forward  and  dashed  the  poison  to  the  floor. 

"  Here  is  the  other,"  said  Acton,  coolly,  reaching  his 
own  vial  toward  Ellen.  "  I  was  only  trying  to  see  if  you 
were  in  earnest." 

Ere  Ellen  could  reply,  there  came  a  heavy  rap  on  the 
door ;  and  springing  forward  she  threw  it  open.  To  her 
surprise,  a  fine,  noble-looking  gentleman,  accompanied  by 
two  roughly  clad  individuals,  entered,  one  of  which  latter 
stepping  up  to  the  astonished  Acton,  laid  a  hand  heavy  on 
his  shoulder,  saying  gruffly : 

"  Acton  Atherton,  I  arrest  you !" 

At  the  same  time  the  foremost  approaching  Virginia, 
breathed  her  name  in  a  low,  tender  voice.  She  started, 
looked  at  him  eagerly,  blushed,  hesitated,  and  then  yielding 
to  a  powerful  impulse,  threw  herself  forward,  and  was 
caught  half  fainting  in  the  arms,  and  tenderly  strained  to 
the  wildly  beating  heart  of — Dudley. 


CHAPTER  XVII. 

THE   HAPPY  DELIVERANCE. 

NOT  more  astonished  was  Virginia  at  the  sudden  entrance 
cf  Dudley  and  the  officers  of  police,  than  was  Ellen  herself 
— for  these  new-comers  formed  no  share  in  her  plot,  which 
only  concerned  a  few  inmates  of  the  house,  with  whom  she 
had  so  arranged,  that,  at  a  given  signal,  they  were  to  rush 
in  and  witness  the  chagrin,  rage  and  disappointment  of 
Acton ;  and,  in  case  he  meditated  violence,  prevent  him 
doing  injury. 

In  fact  Dudley  did  not  appear  by  any  preconcerted 
arrangement,  but  by  one  of  those  singular  yet  common- 
place accidents,  which,  happening  at  an  important  crisis, 
seem  strange  and  mysterious,  and  almost  force  one  to  believe 
in  a  special  Providence.  He  had  been  in  the  lower  part 
of  the  city  on  business,  and  was  on  his  return  home  at  a 
rather  advanced  hour,  when  the  fancy  struck  him  that  he 
wished  to  see  Edgar — we  will  not  say  that  he  did  not 
think  of  Virginia,  but  leave  the  reader  to  his  own  inference 
— and  he  therefore  shaped  his  course  accordingly,  trusting 
to  good  fortune  to  find  the  party  he  sought  still  astir. 

As  he  came  in  sight  of  the  house,  a  coach  was  standing 
before  the  door ;  and  almost  at  the  same  moment  a  female 
entered  it,  followed  by  a  gentleman,  and  then  it  drove 
away,  leaving  a  third  party  behind.  Dudley  would  have 
thought  nothing  of  this,  but  that  he  somehow  fancied  the 
female  was  Virginia  Courtly,  and  that  the  manner  of 
Wesley — whom  he  well  knew  as  a  sort  of  attorney  for 
17  (197) 


198  THE   FORGED   WILL. 


Atherton,  and  whom  the  light  of  a  lamp  under  which  he 
now  passed  enabled  him  to  recognize — had  something  in  it 
calculated  to  arrest  attention ;  for  he  shook  his  fist  after 
the  carriage,  and  muttered  words,  the  import  of  which 
Dudley  could  only  judge  from  his  actions  was  of  a  threatening 
nature.  To  say  the  least,  there  was  something  very  singular 
in  all  this,  time  and  place  considered ;  and  perceiving  a 
man  standing  in  the  door  of  the  lower  story,  Dudley  hastened 
to  him,  and  inquired  if  he  knew  the  persons  who  had  just 
driven  off  in  the  carriage.  The  man  replied  that  the  lady 
was  a  tenant  of  his,  whose  brother  had  just  been  arrested 
for  forgery  and  taken  to  the  Tombs  ;  but  that  the  gentleman 
who  accompanied  her  was  one  he  had  never  before  seen. 

As  a  matter  of  course,  the  intelligence  of  Edgar's  arrest 
for  so  startling  a  crime  as  forgery,  fell  upon  Dudley 
with  stunning  force,  and  for  a  few  moments  he  stood  as 
one  bewildere'd.  Then  bethinking  himself  of  Wesley,  who 
he  fancied  must  know  all  about  it,  he  darted  away  to 
overtake  him,  leaving  his  informant  to  stare  after  him  and 
wonder  whether  or  no  he  was  in  his  right  senses.  Turning 
the  corner  where  he  had  last  seen  Wesley  disappear,  Dudley 
hastened  on  for  a  square*  or  so,  when  he  again  came  in 
sight  of  him,  moving  along  at  a  very  leisure  pace.  As 
he  drew  near,  and  was  in  fact  about  to  accost  him,  he  dis- 
covered that  the  attorney  was  in  one  of  those  deep  reveries, 
when  the  mind,  turned  upon  itself,  takes  no  cognizance  of 
outward  things,  and  was  muttering,  but  loud  enough  for 
Dudley  to  overhear :  . 

"  Yes,  by  heavens !  I'll  do  it ;  and  then  he  may  make 
his  money  save  him  if  he  can.  I've  had  this  matter  on  my 
conscience  long  enough ;  and  after  I've  forced  him  to  buy 
my  silence,  I'll  to "  Here  the  words  became  indis- 
tinct, though  the  speaker  grumbled  to  himself  for  some 
time  afterwards.  At  length  Dudley  heard  him  say,  as  if 


THE   HAPPY   DELIVERANCE.        X.          199 

in  conclusion :  "  But  first  to  see  this  madcap  fairly  caught 
in  his  own  trap." 

The  effect  of  this  on  Dudley  was  to  alter  his  first  deter- 
mination, and,  without  letting  himself  be  seen,  to  keep  the 
attorney  in  sight,  rightly  judging  from  his  words  and  manner 
there  was  some  dark  scheme  afoot,  a  knowledge  of  which 
he  might  never  gain  by  showing  himself  too  soon.  Accord- 
ingly when  Wesley  stopped  in  Mott  street,  before  the  house 
where  Ellen  resided,  Dudley  screened  himself,  so  that  he 
could,  unseen  by  the  other,  not  only  watch  all  his  motions, 
but  note  every  thing  taking  place  around  him. 

Here  his  patience 'was  much  tried  by  long  waiting;  and 
he  was  just  on  the  point  of  throwing  up  his  office  of  spy, 
and  accosting  the  attorney  as  to  the  meaning  of  his  singular 
manoeuvres,  when  the  carriage,  containing  Acton  and  Vir- 
ginia, halted  nearly  abreast  of  him,  and  he  heard  the 
dialogue  between  them  as  they  entered  the  house.  There 
was  no  longer  doubt  in  his  mind  as  to  who  they  were — for 
well  he  knew  them  both — and  remembering  their  first 
meeting,  when  he  had  interfered  to  save  Virginia  from 
insult,  he  felt  almost  certain  the  latter  was  now  the  victim 
of  some  damnable  plot.  His  first  impulse  was  to  spring 
forward  to  rescue ;  but  prudence  counselled  the  wiser  course 
of  being  positive  he  was  not  mistaken  in  the  matter,  and 
then  going  armed  with  the  strong  majesty  of  the  law.  He 
therefore  turned  on  his  heel,  and  the  next  instant  stood 
confronting  the  astonished  Wesley,  who  would  scarcely 
have  been  more^ surprised  had  a  specter  arisen  in  his  place. 
Seizing  the  attorney  with  a  grip  that  both  pained  and 
startled  him,  he  said,  in  a  low,  eager,  emphatic  tone, 
pointing  with  his  other  hand  toward  the  house  opposite : 

"  Who  are  those  I  have  just  seen  enter?" 

"  How  should  I  know  ?"  replied  Wesley,  trembling. 

"  Villain  !  you  do  know !"  rejoined  Dudley,  firmly,  but 


200  THE    FOKGED    WILL. 

still  in  a  low,  deep  tone ;  "  and  if  you  do  not  tell  me  on 
the  instant,  I  will  have  you  arrested  by  the  night-watch 
and  dragged  to  prison  !" 

"By  what  authority?"  asked  Wesley,  attempting  to  as- 
sume an  easy  assurance  he  was  far  from  feeling. 

"  By  the  authority  of  that  law,  sir,  which  punishes  most 
severely  a  foul  conspiracy  like  this.  Nay,  do  not  seek  to 
evade  me  by  inventing  falshood.  It  will  not  pass.  I  have 
long  been  watching  you,  and  know  enough  already  to  put 
you  in  limbo.  Speak  quick,  make  a  clean  breast  of  it,  and 
you  may  go — otherwise  I  will  give  you  into  custody." 

Thus  menaced,  fearful  of  the  consequences  if  he  re- 
mained obdurate,  anxious  to  escape,  and  at  the  same  time 
deepen  his  revenge  on  Acton,-  the  trembling  attorney  only 
stipulated  that  he  should  not  be  called  in  question ;  and 
then,  in  a  few  words,  hurriedly  put  Dudley  in  possession 
of  the  whole  scheme  of  his  confederate,  his  designs  upon 
Virginia,  and  the  part  he  had  himself  played  to  prevent 
the  accomplishment  of  his  fell  purpose.  So  eagerly  spoke 
both,  that  the  time  consumed  was  scarce  five  minutes,  ere 
Dudley  had  gained  ail  he  cared  to  know;  and  bid- 
ding Wesley  go  home,  as  he  valued  his  own  safety,  he 
turned  away  to  seek  means  for  punishing  the  offender,  and 
rescuing  one  who  had,  for  some  time,  occupied  no  small 
share  of  his  thoughts. 

As  chance  would  have  it,  the  coach  was  still  in  waiting ; 
and  the  driver,  who  had  delayed  departure  on  some  busi- 
ness of  his  own,  was  just  in  the  act  of  mounting  his  box. 
Hailing  him,  Dudley  bade  him  remain  a  few  minutes ;  and 
then  hurrying  away,  he  summoned  a  couple  of  the  watch, 
informed  them  what  had  transpired,  and  requested  their 
assistance — which  being  readily  granted,  he,  in  their  com- 
pany, appeared  upon  the  scene  of  action  at  what  time  and 
in  what  manner  the  reader  has  already  seen. 


THE    HAPPY   DELIVERANCE.  201 

Thither  let  us  again  repair. 

Overcome  with  astonishment,  fear  and  rage,  it  was  not 
until  Virginia,  half-fainting,  had  been  placed  on  a  seat  by 
Dudley,  and  the  room  been  tolerably  well  filled  with  the 
inmates  of  the  house,  drawn  hither  by  alarm  and  curiosity, 
that  Acton  found  sufficient  command  over  his  voice  to  ren- 
der his  words  intelligible. 

"  Villain  !"  he  cried  at  last,  addressing  himself  to  Dud- 
ley "  this  is  the  second  time  you  have  crossed  my  path,  and 
by !  you  shall  rue  it !' 

"  Keep  your  threats  for  those  who  fear  you,"  retorted 
Dudley  in  a  calm  tone  ;  "  and  beware  what  vill^pies  you 
attempt  in  future,  or  it  will  not  be  the  last  timolkm  find 
me  a  stumbling  block  in  your  guilty  course." 

"  0,  that  I  were  free !"  shouted  Acton,  making  as  if  he 
would  spring  upon  Dudley,  were  he  not  restrained  by  the 
officers. 

"If  so  you  like,  gentlemen,"  returned  Dudley,  address- 
ing the  latter,  "set  him  free;  and  if  he  want  justice  and 
chastisement  at  my  hands,  he  shall  have  both,  to  his  full 
satisfaction — I  only  protesting,  that  if  I  am  forced  to  soil 
my  fingers  dn  so  mean  a  coward  as  one  who  has  sought  by 
the  basest  arts  to  degrade  a  lady  to  his  own  level — that 
lady  his  lawful  cousin — I  do  it  merely  to  show  him  he  now 
stands  in  the  presence  of  his  master  and  superior." 

Saying  which,  Dudley  folded  his  arms  on  his  breast,  and 
fixing  his  eyes  steadily  upon  Acton's,  gave  him  such  a  look 
of  cool,  calm  resolute  defiance,  that  the  gaze  of  the  latter 
quailed  before  it  and  fell. 

"No,  no,  gentlemen — we  can't  have  any  quarreling 
here !"  now  spoke  up  one  of  the  watch. 

"  Have   no   fear,"  replied    Dudley,  sarcastically;  "  the 
youth  is  perfectly  harmless  among  his  own  sex;"  and  he 
turned  away  to  speak  with  Virginia. 
17* 


THE    FORGED    WILL. 


"By  my  soul,  you  shall  eat  your  words  some  day  !"  re- 
plied Acton,  fiercely,  whose  courage,  like  that  of  many 
others,  always  rose  as  the  danger  diminished. 

"Look  at  him!"  cried  Ellen,  tauntingly,  pointing  at 
Acton  with  her  finger,  and  addressing  those  around  her. 
"  Is  he  not  a  brave  youth  and  proper,  to  steal  away  his 
own  cousin  by  treachery,  for  his  own  foul  ends  ?  Look  at 
him  —  mark  him  —  that  is  Acton  Atherton  —  son  of  the  great 
millionaire,  Oliver  Atherton  —  who  is,  I  have  learned,  the 
first  in  his  profession  of  a  hypocritical  villain.  By  my 
faith  !  he  has  a  hopeful  pupil  in  his  own  son  !"  and  she  con- 
cluded with  a  hysterical  laugh,  that  thrilled  the  nerves  of 
all  who  heard  it. 

Even  Acton  himself,  who  was  gnashing  his  teeth  in  rage 
at  her  taunts,  suddenly  changed  countenance  when  he 
heard  that  laugh,  and  glanced  toward  her  a  startled  ex- 
pression, in  which  something  like  pity  could  be  traced.  As 
he  did  so,  he  saw  her  stagger  and  fall,  and  heard  the 
females  around  cry  that  Ellen  Douglas  had  fainted. 

Mortified,  abashed,  ashamed  of  himself,  Acton  now 
quitted  the  room  in  company  with  the  officers  ;  and  as  he 
did  so,  he  saw  Ellen  borne  behind  him  to  her  own  apart- 
ment, in  a  state  of  unconsciousness. 

As  slowly  he  threaded  his  way  to  the  gloomy  Tombs— 
reflecting  upon  his  last  career,  his  dissolute  course  and 
deeds  of  villainy  —  the  pale  specter  of  Ellen  Douglas  seemed 
to  rise  up  before  him,  with  a  wobegone  visage,  and  point 
to  him  as  the  author  of  her  misery  —  her  sad  voice,  in 
humble  entreaty,  seemed  sounding  in  his  ear  —  and  for  the 
first  time  in  his  life,  perhaps,  Acton  felt  the  bitter  stings 
of  a  conscience  touched  with  remorse. 

"Are  you  able  to  ride,  Virginia?"  asked  Dudley,  in  a 
low,  tender  voice,  as  soon  as  the  room  had  become  partially 


' 


THE   HAPPY   DELIVEBANCE. 


vacated.  "  If  so,  we  will  at  once  away,  for  this  is  no 
place  for  such  as  you." 

"  But  whither  shall  I  go  ?"  interrogated  Virginia,  bursting 
into  tears.  "  I  have  no  home  now ;  my  poor  brother,  God 
help  him!  is  in  prison." 

"Nay,  do  not  weep,  Virginia — I  pray  you,  do  not!" 
pleaded  Dudley,  in  soothing  tones. "  "  Your  brother  shall 
soon  be  restored  to  you — for  he  has  friends  more  powerful 
than  he  thinks — and  like  you,  I  believe  him  innocent.  He 
is  doubtless  the  victim  of  some  foul  conspiracy;  and  rest 
assured  he  shall  yet  triumph,  while  his  enemies  plunge  into 
the  pit  they  have  dug  for  him.  I  have  my  suspicions  of 
the  author  of  this  black  scheme  ;  and  if  I  find  them  verified, 
he  shall  wish  he  had  never  been  born.  But  come !  if  you 
feel  able  to  ride,  we  will  no  longer  tarry  here." 

"  But  whither  will  you  take  me  ?" 

"To  the  widow  Malcolm's,  or  Calvin  Morton's,  which- 
ever you  prefer ;  and  I,  being  acquainted  with  both  parties, 
will  insure  you  a  warm  reception  at  either  place." 

"  To  the  latter,  then,"  said  Virginia,  "if  it  will  not 
incommode  them  and  you  too  much — for  thither  dear 
Edgar  bade  me  repair." 

"  Speak  not  of  incommoding,  Virginia,"  said  Dudley, 
earnestly,  while  a  warm,  enthusiastic  glow  overspread  his 
features,  "  for  I  would  go  to  the  ends  of  the  earth  to  serve 
you!" 

"I  thank  you!"  faltered  Virginia,  blushing  and  giving 
the  other  one  sweet  look  from  her  soft  blue  eyes,  that 
thrilled  his  soul  as  never  look  had  done  before.  And  then 
she  added  quickly,  as  if  to  cover  a  rising  embarrassment  : 
"  But  I  must  see  Ellen  before  I  go,  and  thank  her  for  her 
kindness  in  protecting  me !" 

In  this  Virginia  was  disappointed ;  for  on  inquiry,  she 


204  THE  FORGED   WILL. 

learned  that  Ellen,  having  partially  recovered  from  her 
swoon,  was  now  delirious,  and  would  not  recognize  her. 

"  Poor  child  of  grief  and  misfortune !"  sighed  Virginia, 
as  she  turned  away,  and,  accompanied  by  Dudley,  quitted 
the  house. 

The  coach  which  had  home  her  hither  was  still  standing 
at  the  door  ;  and  entering  it  again,  but  with  a  very  different 
companion,  Virginia  rode  away,  with  a  heart  much  lightened 
by  a  strong  feeling  of  protection  and  hope,  the  first  she 
had  experienced  since  Edgar's  arrest. 

On  their  way  to  the  Mortons,  Dudley  and  Virginia  con- 
versed freely — he  detailing  the  manner  he  had  been  brought 
to  her  rescue — and  she,  all  she  knew  of  the  imposition 
•which  had  caused  her  to  need  his  assistance. 

"  That  rascally  attorney  had  more  to  do  with  this  affair 
than  I  thought,"  said  Dudley,  as  Virginia  explained  the 
stratagem  he  used'  to  entice  her  away ;  "  but  he  only 
serves  a  master  whom  I  may  yet  make  tremble  for  his 
black-hearted  deeds.  The  very  fact  of  his  being  there  at 
the  time  of  arrest,  shows  plainly  that  Oliver  Atherton  is 
the  master-worker  of  the  plot,  doubtless  contrived  to  ruin 
you  and  Edgar,  so  that  none  may  be  left  to  bring  his 
former  villainies  to  light.  But  he  has  over-shot  himself  in 
this  matter ;  and  will  find,  to  his  cost,  that  he  has  roused 
a  spirit  that  can  and  will  be  as  bold  in  the  cause  of  right 
as  he  dare  be  in  that  of  wrong !" 

It  was  past  midnight  when  the  coach  drove  up  before  the 
door  of  Calvin  Morton.  Save  a  light  in  the  hall,  all  ap- 
peared dark  and  gloomy ;  and  Dudley,  as  he  boldly  rung 
the  bell,  doubted  not  that  all  the  inmates  were  locked  in 
slumber.  But  in  this  he  was  mistaken ;  for  scarcely  had 
the  echoes  of  the  bell  died  away,  ere  he  heard  quick  foot- 
steps along  the  hall ;  and  the  next  moment  the  door  was 


THE    liAIMJY    DELlVliKANGK.  205 

thrown  open,  and  Calvin  Morton  himself,  with  a  book  in 
his  hand  and  a  pen  in  his  mouth,  stood  before  him. 

"Why,  bless  my  soul!  is  this  you?"  he  said,  in  his 
rapid,  impetuous  manner. — "  Come  in — come  in  !  Heaven 
save  us  all !  I  trust  nothing  alarming  has  occurred  !  Your 
mother  is  well,  eh?" 

u  Quite  well,  I  thank  you,  Mr.  Morton,"  replied  Dudley, 
glancing  at  the  coach  significantly. 

"  Eh  !  what !"  said  Morton,  following  the  other's  glance 
with  his  own.  "  Who  is  in  there,  eh  ?" 

"  One  who  needs  your  kindest  protection,  as  she  amply 
deserves  it." 

"  God  bless  her,  then  she  shall  have  it !"  rejoined  Mor- 
ton, emphatically. 

"A  word  in  private  first,"  said  Dudley;  and  drawing 
the  other  aside,  out  of  earshot  of  Virginia,  he  hurriedly 
narrated  the  leading  events  of  the  night,  beginning  with 
Edgar's  arrest,  and  ending  with  his  own  rescue  of  Virginia 
from  her  cousin. 

"  So,  so— the  foul  fiend  seize  them  that  play  the  devil's 
game,  say  I !  The  old  one  plans,  and  the  young  one  exe- 
cutes. A  hopeful  pair,  truly.  Heaven  help  and  God  bless 
him  !  poor  Edgar  has  been  sent  to  prison  !  Well,  well,  it 
shall  work  out  his  own  salvation ;  for  when  the  devil 
prompts  too  much,  you  know  his  pupils  often  lose  most 
where  most  they  think  to  win.  I  am  glad  to  see  you  on 
the  right  side,  Cla " 

"  Hush  !  a  word  in  your  ear  !"  interrupted  the  other. 

"  0,  yes — certainly,  Mr.  Dudley — any  thing  to  oblige. 
I  see  you  are  sly  ;  but  no  matter ;.  we  all  have  our  whimsi- 
calities. Why,  bless  my  soul !  here  I  am  rattling  away, 
and  yonder  sits  the  maiden,  waiting  as  patiently  as  a  bird 
in  a  cage  ;"  and  he  darted  down  the  steps  to  the  carriage, 
exclaiming,  as  he  reached  out  his  hand  to  Virginia : 


206  THE   FORGED   WILL. 

"  My  dear  Miss  Courtly,  I  don't  know  that  we  ever  met 
before — but  I  knew  your  lamented  father,  and  a  gentle- 
man he  was — I  know  your  brother,  and  a  most  noble  young 
man  he  is — I  have  heard  of  you ;  and  so  pardon  me,  if  I 
eschew  all  formality,  consider  ourselves  acquainted,  and 
welcome  you  here  as  I  would  a  long  absent  daughter." 

"I  can  but  thank  you,"  replied  Virginia,  her  eyes  moist 
and  voice  faltering  at  the  frank  and  hearty  kindness  with 
which  the  other  received  her. 

"  Why,  Heaven  bless  you,  sweet  creature !"  pursued  Mor- 
ton, as  he  assisted  her  to  alight  and  conducted  her  up  the 
steps  of  his  dwelling ;  "  what  more  could  one  ask  than  thanks 
from  such  pretty  lips,  unless  it  were  a  taste  of  their  sweet- 
ness !  But  pshaw !  compliments  are  not  in  my  line  ;  and 
so  I'll  leave  them  and  you  to*my  friend  Ma — Dudley  here, 
while  I  go  and  call  Edith." 

"  Stay  !"  said  Virginia,  earnestly,  touching  his  arm  as 
he  was  moving  away ;  "  do  not,  I  beg  of  you,  disturb  any 
one  to-night  on  my  account !  I  fear  I  have  proved  too 
troublesome  already." 

"Why,  bless  your  modest  soul!"  replied  Morton,  with 
warmth,  smiling  cheerfully  upon  his  guest,  "  I  see  you 
don't  know  us  yet,  or  you  wouldn't  talk  of  being  trouble- 
some to  those  who  are  indebted  to  your  noble  brother  that 
this  house  is  not  decked  in  the  sable  weeds  of  mourning. 
Why,  Edith  has  done  nothing  but  talk  about  you  all  day, 
and  would  grieve  herself  sorely,  should  I  let  you  sleep  here 
without  her  knowledge.  Conduct  her  into  the  parlor — a 
- Dudley — you  know  the  way — and  I  will  soon  join  you." 

Saying  which,  Mr.  Morton  hastened  forward,  threw  opon 
the  parlor  door  as  he  passed,  and  disappeared  up  a  flight 
of  stairs  at  the  far  end  of  the  hall.  Scarcely  had  Dudley 
complied  with  his  request,  and  seated  his  fair  charge  and 


THE   HAPPY  DELIVERANCE.  207 

himself,  ere  the  other  again  made  his  appearance,  saying 
Edith  would  soon  be  with  them. 

"And  now,"  he  concluded,  "as  I  have  important  busi- 
ness that  must  be  attended  to  before  I  sleep,  I  trust  to 
your  good  sense  to  excuse  me.  Good-night,  Virginia," 
he  added,  taking  her  hand  and  pressing  it  warmly ;  "  I 
shall  see  you,  I  trust,  at  breakfast,  and  will  immediately 
take  what  steps  I  can  to  release  your  brother,  who,  I  doubt 
not,  is  in  prison  by  means  of  a  foul  plot.  Dudley,  let  me 
see  you  early,  to  concert  our  plan  of  operations.  Good- 
night again — God  guard  us  all !"  and  bowing  he  withdrew. 

In  a  few  minutes  Edith  glided  into  the  parlor,  with  a 
step  so  light  that  neither  of  her  guests  heard  her  till  she 
stood  before  them.  With  a  graceful  bow  and  smile  of  re- 
cognition to  Dudley,  she  at  once  sprung  to  Virginia,  and 
seizing  her  hand,  kissed  her  affectionately,  and  bade  her 
welcome  to  her  new  home,  which  she  trusted  would  always 
be  one  to  her.  In  return,  Virginia  thanked  her  warmly, 
with  tearful  eyes ;  and  in  a  moment,  as  it  were,  these  two 
artless  beings  felt  they  were  friends  for  life. 

"  No  one — not  even  yourself,  dear  Virginia,"  said  Edith, 
naively,  "  can  feel  more  deeply  grieved  for  your  noble 
brother  than  I ;  but  father  says  the  charge  against  him  is 
false,  and  I  believe  him ;  for  surely,  if  ever  a  man  was  in- 
capable of  crime,  it  is  he." 

Virginia,  unable  to  repress  her  emotion  longer,  burst 
into  tears ;  while  Edith,  with  true  affection,  hastened  to 
console  her. 

"  Grieve  not,  my  dear  sister,"  she  said, — "for  you  shall 
be  a  sister  to  me, — to-morrow,  trust  me  will  set  all  right. 
And  Acton,  too — I  have  heard  of  his  baseness,  and  have 
torn  him  from  my  heart  as  I  would  a  viper  from  my  bosom. 
Oh,  the  wickedness  of  those  to  whom  we  look  for  ennobling 
virtues  ! — but  they  will  not  always  prosper  ;  and  Retribu,- 


208  THE   FORGED   WILL. 

tion,  with  a  heavy  hand,  will  surely  overtake  them  at  last. 
Let  us  put  our  trust  in  a  Higher  Power,  and  with  an  easy 
conscience  fear  not  the  machinations  of  the  evil  minded. 
Sin  ever  carries  its  own  punishment,  and  sooner  or  later 
the  guilty  must  feel  it." 

"Nobly  spoken!"  chimed  in  Dudley,  rising  to  take  his 
leave ;  and  then,  motioning  Edith  aside,  he  whispered  a 
few  words  in  her  ear.  Edith  smiled,  glanced  slyly  toward 
Virginia,  and  rejoined: 

"  I  will  remember,  Mr.  Dudley." 

"  Do  so,"  said  Dudley,  "  and  put  me  under  an  obliga- 
tion. Cheer  up  your  fair  guest,  Edith,  and  count  on  see- 
ing me  early  in  the  morning.  Good-night  to  both,  and 
pleasant  dreams  ;"  and  bowing,  he  departed,  sprung  into 
the  coach,  and  was  driven  home. 

"You  are  fatigued,  dear  Virginia,"  said  Edith,  as  Dud- 
ley left,  "  and  need  repose.  Come,  you  shall  be  my  guest 
for  the  night;"  and  she  conducted  the  latter  to  her  own 
splendid  apartment,  where  for  the  present  we  leave  them 
both. 


-' 


CHAPTER    XVIII. 

DIAMOND   CUT   DIAMOND. 

IN  the  elegant  mansion  of  Oliver  Atherton,  on  the  third 
floor,  separated  alike  from  the  members  of  the  family  and 
the  servants  or  domestics  of  the  house,  Nathan  Wesley  had 
his  own  sleeping-apartment.  It  was  a  small  room,  plainly 
but  neatly  furnished,  containing  a  bed,  wardrobe,  secre- 
tary, and  a  few  books,  scattered,  many  of  them  carelessly, 
about,  and  such  other  articles  as  the  attorney  fancied  both 
convenient  and  useful.  Here,  at  an  early  hour  on  the  morn- 
ing ensuing  the  night  of  the  events  just  detailed,  the  lordly 
millionaire,  with  his  toilet  half  made,  was  pacing  to  and  fro 
with  rapid  steps,  his  features  expressive  of  vindictive  pas- 
sions excited  to  a  pitch  little  short  of  frenzy ;  on  whom 
Wesley,  just  startled  from  a  sound  sleep,  and  partly  risen 
in  bed,  still  rubbing  his  heavy  eyelids,  was  staring  with  a 
sort  of  drowsy  wonder,  that  had  in  it  much  of  the  ludicrous. 

"  Up,  sluggard !"  shouted  Atherton,  looking  fiercely  at 
the  other,  and  seeming  by  his  manner  undetermined 
whether  or  no  to  use  violent  measures  to  bring  him  speed- 
ily to  his  senses.  **VUp,  villain !  and  give  an  account  of 
your  last  night's  treachery  !  Where  is  Acton,  my  son  ?" 

"  How  should  I  know  ?"  replied  the  attorney,  in  some 
trepidation. 

"  How  should  you  know  ?"  repeated  Atherton  sneeringly ; 
"  because  the  devil  should  know  what  becomes  of  his 
victims  ?" 

18  (209) 


210  THE  J'ORGED    WILL. 

"Then  you  ought  to  know  without  asking  ine,"  was  the 
impudent  reply. 

"  Villain !"  cried  Atherton  completely  beside  himself 
with  passion,  springing  forward  and  seizing  Wesley  by  the 
throat :  "  bridle  thy  saucy  tongue,  and  give  straight  answers, 
or  I'll  tear  it  from  thy  foul  mouth,  and  feed  my  dogs  on  it ! 
Where  is  Acton,  I  say  ?" 

"I  don't  know,"  replied  the  other  sullenly,  as  Atherton 
released  his  hold. 

"  Liar,  you  do  know  !    Where  did  you  leave  him  ?" 

I  didn't  leave  him  at  all.     He  left  me  to  run  off  with 
a  woman." 

"And  you  enticed  him  into  the  scheme." 

"No  I  didn't,"  contradicted  Wesley  bluntly.  "He 
enticed  me  to  assist  him." 

"  And  then  you  betrayed  him." 

"But  he  insulted  me  first,"  muttered  the  attorney. 

"Wretch !  I  have  a  mind  to  strangle  you  for  your 
treachery  !  As  if  he  could  insult  you — mean  worthless 
dog  that  you  are — almost  unfit  to  do  his  menial  services  ! 
And  what  think  you  became  of  your  baseness?"  • 

"  I  don't  know,"  answered  the  other,  doggedly. 

"No,  nor  you  don't  care,"  rejoined  Atherton. 

"  Nor  don't  eare,"  grumbled  the  attorney,  too  low  to 
reach  the  other's  ears. 

"  Well,  I  will  tell  you  what  became  of  him,  base  ingrate !" 
pursued  Atherton,  vehemently.  "Pie  spent  the  night  in 
prison  !  In  prison,  do  you  hear  ?  Think  of  that,  sir ! 
Acton  Atherton,  my  son,  in  prison,  in  company  with  com- 
mon thieves  and  vagabonds,  and  all  through  your  infernal 
villainy !" 

"  Where  I'll  put  the  father  soon,"  muttered  Wesley  to 
himself,  with  a  devilish  grin  of  triumph  lurking  around  the 
corners  of  his  mouth. 


DIAMOND   C.UT   DIAMOND.  211 

"  Cease  your  grinning  !"  shouted  Atherton,  his  features 
distorted  with  rage,  as  he  glared  ferociously  upon  Wesley, 
who,  springing  up  in  bed,  and  hurrying  on  his  garments, 
withdrew  to  the  further  side,  as  if  fearing  the  other  would 
do  him  violence.  "  Cease,  I  tell  you!"  pursued  Atherton, 

advancing  toward  him ;  "  or  by !  I'll  make  it  the  grin 

of  death.  My  son  in  prison,  through  the  machinations  and 
treachery  of  you  whom  I  picked  up  in  the  streets  of  Balti- 
more, little  better  than  a  beggar,  and  raised  to  the  exal- 
ted position  of  attorney  and  confidant ;  think  of  that, 
villain  !  Not  half  an  hour  since,  I  received  a  message  from 
Acton,  accusing  you,  and  praying  me  to  come  to  his  relief; 
I  came  up  here  to  chastise  you ;  and  if  I  do  not,  ere  I  leave, 
you  may  thank  your  lucky  stars !  Acton  in  prison — my 
family  disgraced — what  will  the  world  say  ?" 

"  Say  that  he  deserves  it,"  replied  Wesley,  who,  though 
afraid  of  the  other,  could  not  restrain  a  malicious  propen- 
sity to  irritate  him  still  further. 

Atherton  made  no  direct  reply  ;  but  clenching  his  hand, 
he  came  close  to  the  bed,  and  raised  it  as  if  to  strike. 

"  Stop  !"  cried  Wesley,  fixing  upon  him  a  demoniacal  look 
of  defiance,  that,  enraged  as  he  was,  made  him  hesitate. — 
"  Stop  !"  he  repeated,  placing  one  hand  in  his  pocket,  as  if 
to  draw  a  concealed  weapon.  "You've  laid  hands  on  me 
once  already  :  do  so  again,  and  by  the  blood  of  the  murdered ! 
I'll  send  your  spirit  after  his  !" 

"  Well,"  rejoined  Atherton,  lowering  his  fist  and  turning 
very  pale,  evidently  fearful  the  other  would  keep  his  oath 
should  he  attempt  violence,  and,  at  the  same  time,  desirous 
to  impress  Wesley  with  the  belief  he  had  only  changed  his 
design  for  one  still  more  severe  :  "  now  since  you  have 
mentioned  that,  mark  me  !  If  Acton  comes  to  harm, 
through  this  baseness  of  yours,  I'll  have  you  hung,  if  it 
sinks  my-(  for  tune  to  do  it !" 


212  THE  FORGED   WILL. 

"  Will  you  ?"  grinned  Wesley.  "  Now  mark  me,  Oliver 
Atherton,  and  don't  forget  one  word  I  say  !  You've  been 
talking  largely  of  what  you'll  do,  and  what  you've  done, 
and  now  I  want  you  to  listen  to  me  !  You  say  you  picked 
me  up  in  the  streets  of  Baltimore,  little  better  than  a  beg- 
ger,  and  raised  me  to  the  nonorable  position  of  being  your 
attorney  and  confidant,  llather  say  you  degraded  me  to 
that  position  by  your  own  devilish  arts  !  If  I  was  poor  then 
I  was  a  much  honester  man  than  now,  and  had  a  conscience 
that  didn't  trouble  me.  But  you  found  me,  and  knew  from 
my  nature  I  could  be  tempted  to  guilt  for  money ;  and  you 
offered  me  money  lo  do  your  dirty  work ;  and  after  I'd 
done  it,  you  dared  nqt  let  me  go,  for  fear  I  might  get  you 
into  difficulty  by  speaking  of  something  that  had  happened ; 
and  so  you  kept  me  near  you,  and  made  me  what  you've 
boasted  of,  and  promised  me  you'd  not  only  make  a  great 
man  of  me,  but  what  is  of  still  more  consequence,  a  rich 
one.  Well,  sir,  I've  been  with  you  about  five  years  now, 
and  don't  see  as  I  am  much  richer  than  I  was  before, 
excepting  my  salary,  which  has  been  a  small  one.  Now 
that  these  matters  have  been  brought  forward  by  you,  and 
you've  taken  the  liberty  to  tell  me  of  my  baseness  and 
meanness,  which  you've  had  the  benefit  of,  and  how  I'm 
hardly  fit  to  serve  your  honorable  son  as  a  menial,  I'll 
trouble  you  for  that  little  balance,  cry  quits,  and  let  you 
get  somebody  that  will  serve  you  better." 

"  Nay,  good  Wesley,  I  was  but  in  a  passion,  and  spoke 
hastily,"  returned  the  hypocrite,  alarmed  at  the  other's 
words,  and  changing  his  angry  countenance  to  one  of 
smiles,  and  his  harsh  tone  to  one  of  blandness.  "  I  could 
not  think  of  parting  with  you  on  any  terms." 

"  Well,  I  must  have  that  balance,  at  all  events,"  rejoined 
Wesley,  looking  slyly  and  maliciously  at  the  other  with  his 
small,  black,  fiery  eyes. 


DIAMOND   CUT  DIAMOND.  213" 

"  To  what  balance  do  you  allude  ?"  mildly  asked  the 
hypocrite. 

"  Why,  the  balance  that  was  to  make  me  rich." 

"  I  do  not  understand  you." 

"Probably  not:  I  know  it  is  very  hard  for  a  man  to 
understand  when  he  don't  want  to.  I'll  simplify  the  mat- 
ter; I  want  twenty  thousand  dollars." 

"  Good  heavens  !  Wesley,  you  are  not  in  your  senses." 

"  0,  but  I  am,  though.  I  am  in  my  senses  now,  and 
should  have  been  long  before,  but  that  I  thought  your  gen- 
erosity would  save  me  the  painful  necessity  of  asking  you 
for  what  you  promised." 

"But  I  never  promised  this,  my  dear  Wesley." 

"  No ;  but  you  promised  to  make  me  rich  ;  and  twenty 
thousand  dollars  is  the  very  lowest  sum  I  could  accept  for 
an  independency." 

"  But  consider  ?" 

"  I  have,"  replied  the  attorney,  with  a  malicious  grin  : 
"  I  have  considered :  five  years  of  servitude,  crimes 
worthy  of  the  gallows,  besides  a  good  many  insults  before 
these  I've  just  received,  and  the  strongest  fact  of  all,  that 
I  hold  a  secret  would  ruin  you." 

"But  I  cannot  part  with  such  a  sum." 

"  Then  lose  the  whole." 

"  But,  my  dear  Wesley " 

"Stop!  Dear  Wesley  me  no  more.  I'm  talking  on 
business  matters  now,  and  particularly  want  all  dears  left 
out.  Keep  them  to  cozen  new  dupes  with.  I  want  twenty 
thousand  dollars  at  once  !" 

"  How  will  you  have  it  ?' 

"  In  cash." 

"  Why  you  must  have  lost  your  senses,  surely  !" 

"  0,  no— just  found  them.  You  have  fifty  thousand 
dollars  in  the  hands  of  John  Peyton,  subject  to  instant 
18* 


214-  „    THE   FORGED   WILL. 


•withdrawal.  Give  me  a  check  on  him  for  twenty  thousand, 
or  you're  not  safe  twenty-four  hours !" 

"You  would  betray  me,  then  !"  said  Atherton,  sternly, 
his  brow  again  darkening ;  and  stepping  hastily  to  the  door, 
he  locked  it  and  withdrew  the  key. 

Wesley  turned  pale,  but  still  trusted  to  his  brazen 
assurance  to  triumph  at  last. 

"What  is  the  use  of  suck  caution  ?"  he  asked,  with 
assumed  carelessness.  "Nobody  is  about  to  trouble  or 
overhear  us." 

"  So  much  the  better,"  replied  Atherton,  glancing  eagerly 
around,  as  if  seeking  means  to  accomplish  some  dark 
design. 

"  I  know  your  thoughts,"  spoke  Wesley,  retreating  to  the 
further  end  of  the  room.  "You're  thinking  how  you  can 
put  me  out  of  the  way,  and  silence  my  tongue.  But  you're 
very  foolish  ;  for  if  you  kill  me,  of  course  it  will  be  proved 
on  you,  and  you'll  have  to  swing  for  it.  Better  give  the 
twenty  thousand  and  save  yourself." 

"Never!"  exclaimed  the  millionaire,  stamping  his  foot 
violently.  "  I  will  not  be  so  imposed  on  !  Down  on  your 
knees,  villain !  and  swear,  by  all  you  hold  sacred,  to  keep 
my  secret,  or  be  the  consequences  what  they  may,  you 
shall  never  quit  this  apartment  alive !" 

As  he  said  this,  Atherton  made  a  bound  forward  to 
seize  the  attorney ;  but  the  next  moment  recoiled  in  dis- 
may, as  the  click  of  a  pistol  sounded  ominously  in  his  ear. 

"Turn  about  is  fair  play,"  cried  Wesley,  following  up  the 
hasty  retreat  of  the  other  with  a  pistol  leveled  at  his  head. 

"  Open  that  door  now,  and  give  me  free  exit ;  or  by ! 

you're  a  dead  man  before  you  can  say  your  prayers  !" 

"I  yield,"  returned  Atherton,  biting  his  nether  lip  till 
the  blood  sprang  through ;  and  he  unlocked  and  threw 
open  the  door. 


DIAMOND    CUT    DIAMOND.  215 

"  How  about  the  money  ?"  queried  Wesley,  carelessly 
playing  with  the  weapon  to  the  endangerment  of  the  other's 
safety.  "  Are  we  to  part  as  friends,  or  how  ?" 

"  If  we  part  in  life,  Heaven  send  we  part  not  as  foes  !" 
answered  Atherton.  "  We  have  both  been  too  hasty. 
Come  down  and  you  shall  have  a  check  for  all  you  ask ; 
and  then  we  must  see  what  can  be  done  with  Acton  and 
young  Courtly." 

"  Well,  since  you've  got  reasonable,"  said  the  other, 
impudently,  his  late  success  having  greatly  exalted  him  in 
his  own  estimation,  "  I  will  honor  you  with  my  company." 

"  You  are  very  condescending,"  rejoined  Atherton  ;  and 
the  two  descended  to  the  library— a  large,  square  room  on 
the  second  floor,  well  stored  with  books  of  every  descrip- 
tion. 

Pointing  Wesley  to  a  seat,  Atherton  opened  his  escri- 
toir,  wrote  a  few  lines,  and  handed  the  other  the  paper. 

"  This  is  all  right,"  said  Wesley,  glancing  over  it — 
"  with  the  exception  of  one  thing,"  he  added,  returning  it. 

"  What  is  that  ?"  asked  the  other. 

"  I  want  you  to  give  it  to  me  before  witnesses.  No 
Edgar  Courtly  games,  you  know." 

The  sudden  but  marked  change  in  the  countenance  of 
the  millionaire,  indicated  he  had  something  of  the  latter 
kind  in  his  thoughts ;  but  he  said,  quickly : 

"  Certainly,  certainly — you  shall  be  satisfied ;"  and  he 
rung  for  the  servant,  who,  so  soon  as  he  appeared,  he  bade 
hasten  all  the  other  servants  and  his  daughter,  if  she  had 
risen,  to  the  library. 

All  appeared  save  Arabella;  and  in  their  presence, 
Atherton  placed  the  check  in  Wesley's  hand,  saying  it 
was  a  gift  from  him  to  the  other  of  twenty  thousand  dol- 
lars, and  he  desired  all  to  bear  witness  to  it.  He  then 
dismissed  them,  and  turned  to  Wesley.  "Now,"  he  said, 


216  THE   FORGED   WILL 

"  you  are  bound  to  me.  I  have  fulfilled  my  part  of  the 
agreement,  and  claim  your  services  on  all  difficult  points. 
In  the  first  place,  what  is  to  be  done  with  this  young 
Courtly  ?" 

"Let  him  go,"  replied  Wesley. 

"  How,  sir  !  after  all  our  trouble  to  get  him  there  ?" 

"  Can't  help  it ;  but  you  see,  in  the  first  place,  it  will 
be  very  hard  to  prove  the  forgery,  which  can  only  be  done 
by  false  witnesses,  even  if  he  had  no  friends — but  next  to 
impossible  now,  since  he's  got,  by  some  sorcery  or  other, 
that  I  can't  understand,  two  of  the  most  powerful  ones  I 
know  of?" 

"Who  are  they?" 

"  Calvin  Morton  and  Clarence  Malcolm." 

"  Indeed !  is  it  so  ?"  cried  Atherton,  with  a  start.  "  So, 
so — then  we  must  not  appear  against  him — for  even  Satan 
himself  could  not  outwit  this  Morton.  And  besides,  being 
thrown  off  my  guard  last  night,  like  a  fool,  I  fairly  betrayed 
myself,  by  telling  Malcolm  I  had  given  Edgar  a  check  for 
a  thousand  dollars  ;  and  since  he  is  so  much  interested,  of 
course  he  would  come  forward  as  a  witness.  At  first  I 
thought,  with  your  help,  we  might  outswear  Clarence — 
but  if  Morton  has  taken  hold  of  the  matter,  we  might  as 
well  let  it  drop  as  it  is.  But,  Wesley,  (and  the  scheming 
man  glanced  warily  around  and  spoke  low,)  could  you  not 
contrive  some  plan  to  rid  us  of  him,  as  you  did  of " 

"  Hist !"  interrupted  Wesley,  starting  up  and  looking 
fearfully  around.  "Never  mention  his  name  again  to  me! 
never,  never  !  I've  had  enough  of  him  already." 

"Well,   well,   let  him  go.     You    understand   what   I 


mean 


i" 


"I  understand." 

"  And  is  there  not  some  way,  think  you  ?" 

"  Well,  I'll  consider  it." 


DIAMOND   CUT   DIAMOND.  217 

"  Do  so,  my  good  Wesley.  Only  hit  upon  some  plan 
to  rid  us  of  him,  and  I  will  double  the  amount  already 
given." 

"  But  why  do  you  want  him  out  of  the  way  ?' 

"  Why  ?  Because  I  both  fear  and  hate  him.  He  has 
dared  to  threaten  me  to  my  face — and  no  man  shall  do 
that  without  feeling  my  revenge." 

"  Well,  as  I  said  before,  I  must  consider  on  it.  I'll  see 
what  can  be  done,"  he  continued,  giving  the  other  a  very 
peculiar  look,  "  and  then  you  shall  hear  from  me." 

"  That  is  right,"  rejoined  Atherton,  grasping  the  attor- 
ney by  the  hand.  "  Let  us  be  friends  henceforth,  and 
that  little  affair  of  this  morning  be  forgotten.  Remember 
— another  twenty1  thousand.  And  as  for  Acton — why 
hasten  at  once  to  Malcolm,  make  my  most  humble  apologies 
for  what  happened  last  night,  plead  youthful  indiscretion 
for  my  son,  say  he  is  sorry  for  it,  that  it  was  in  a  great 
measure  your  own  fault,  beg  him  to  be  lenient,  and  in  short, 
get  his  promise  not  to  appear  against  him.  That  done, 
he  is  safe ;  for  the  other  witnesses,  if  there  are  any,  can 
be  easily  bought  off.  Now  hasten,  good  Wesley,  and 
return  soon  and  let  me  know  the  result;  and  besides, 
think  over  in  the  meantime  what  can  be  done  with  this 
Courtly.  Our  cards  have  been  rather  unskilfully  played 
of  late,  and  this  cursed  nephew  is  deep  at  work  under- 
mining my  stainless  reputation,  so  that  we  must  move 
cautiously  in  the  matter.  If  we  can  only  get  him  silenced 
trust  me,  the  sun  shall  again  brightly  beam  through  the 
clouds  that  are  lowering  upon  us.  Do  your  part,  good 
Wesley,  and  leave  the  rest  to  me.  Now  away  and  report 
me  soon  ;"  and  bowing,  with  a  glance  of  triumph  on  his 
countenance,  which  Atherton  fancied  augured  success  to 
his  own  cause,  the  attorney  quitted  the  apartment. 

"Now  diamond  cut  diamond,"  pursued  Atherton,  in  an 


218  THE   FORGED   WILL. 

exulting  tone,  as  soon  as  Wesley  was  out  of  sight.  "Now 
then,  I  have  them  both  !  Wesley  shall  make  away  with 
Edgar,  like  a  short  sighted  fool  as  he  is,  and  then  good 
Nathan  Wesley  shall  swing  for  his  pains,  while  I  will 
laugh  in  the  triumph  of  security  that  I  am  master  of  my 
own  secret." 

"  Will  you,"  grinned  Wesley  to  himself,  who,  instead 
of  instantly  departing,  had  lingered  by  the  door  with  his 
ear  to  the  key  hole.  "  Will  you  ? — ha,  ha  ! — ^and  you  will 
make  your  money  save  you !  0  yes,  most  certainly ;" 
and  shaking  his  check  with  an  air  of  defiance,  and  chuck- 
ling at  his  own  thoughts,  he  glided  silently  down  stairs, 
and  the  next  moment  was  in  the  street. 


CHAPTER  XIX. 

THE   EXAMINATION. 

ABOUT  half  an  hour  later  in  the  morning,  Calvin  Mor- 
ton was  pacing  the  floor  of  his  library  with  a  hasty  step 
and  an  anxious  countenance,  the  latter  expressive  of  fear 
mingled  with  hope,  doubt  weighed  against  faith. 

"Pshaw!"  he  said  to  himself;  "it  isn't  possible!  I 
could  not  be  so  deceived ;  and  yet  if  it  should  prove  true 
But  no  !  no  !  I  will  not  so  wrong  him.  I  would  Cla- 
rence were  come,  that  I  might  know  the  result  of  his  inter- 
view. Ha !  perhaps  that  is  he !"  he  added,  as  at  the 
moment  he  heard  a  coach  drive  up  to  the  door. 

The  lawyer  was  not  long  kept  in  suspense;  for  almost 
the  next  moment  he  heard  rapid  steps  along  the  hall, 
and  then  the  door  was  flung  suddenly  open,  and  Dudley 
entered. 

"Well,  you  have  seen  him?"  said  Morton,  quickly. 

"  I  have." 

"  And  how  fares  he  ?" 

"  As  well  as  could  be  expected  under  the  trying  circum- 
stances. He  was  delighted  to  see  me,  and  I  thought 
would  never  cease  shaking  my  hand  and  expressing  his 
boundless  gratitude." 

"  You  delivered  my  message  ?" 

"  I  did." 

"  Well  ?" 

"  And  he  vowed,  by  all  he  held  sacred,  that  a  child  un- 

(219) 


220  THE    FORGED   WILL 

born  was  not  more  free  from  such  a  crime,  even  in  thought, 
than  lie." 

'I  knew  it — I  knew  it !"  almost  shouted  Morton,  fairly 
dancing  around  the  room  in  an  ecstacy  of  delight.  "  God 
be  thanked  !  I  knew  he  was  innocent !  And  what  does  he 
think  of  it  ?" 

"  That  it  is  a  base  plot  of  his  uncle  to  crush  him.  The 
check  for  a  thousand  dollars " 

"  Yes,  yes,  I  know  all  about  that." 

"  He  found,  yesterday,  after  he  saw  you,  and  had  it 
cashed." 

"  Ha  !  yes — now  I  see— and  his  uncle  arrested  him  for 
forging  it?" 

"  So  he  thinks."    • 

"But,  can  he  prove  Atherton  gave  it  to  him  ?" 

"Yes,  I  will  swear  to  that." 

"  Then  we  are  safe ;  and  the  old  scoundrel  shall  find, 
ere  long,  it  is  imprudent  to  play  carelessly  with  edge  tools. 
Well,  what  about  Acton  ?" 

"  I  thought  Edgar  would  go  demented,  when  I  explained 
the  infernal  plot  against  his  sister,  and  how  I  had  suc- 
ceeded in  arresting  his  cousin  in  the  very  act  of  his  vil- 
lainy. He  declares  I  must  appear  against  him,  with  what 
other  evidence  I  can  find,  and  that  he  must  be  pushed 
to  the  extreme  of  the  law.  I  replied,  I  would  consult  with 
you,  but  that  I  was  fearful  it  was  one  of  those  aggra- 
vated cases  which  the  law  will  not  reach.  There  can  be 
nothing  proved  save  deception — for  Virginia  herself  ad- 
mits she  went  willingly,  under  the  supposition  she  was  be- 
ing taken  here— and  I  know  of  no  law  that  will  reach  such 
a  case.  What  think  you,  Mr.  Morton  ?" 

The  lawyer  mused  seriously  a  moment,  and  then  re- 
plied : 

"  For  a  case  of  deception,  such  as  you  represent,  the 


THE   EXAMINATION.  221 

law  has  no  penalty ;  but  methinks  this  may  be  taken  on 
another  ground.  Remain  a  moment — I  must  first  ques- 
tion Virginia." 

Here  Morton  absented  himself  about  ten  minutes,  and 
then  returning,  said : 

"  We  have  him  now,  if  we  prefer  the  charge  of  false 
imprisonment — for  he  locked  the  door  on  Virginia,  and  by 
force  detained  her  against  her  will.  This  can  be  proved 
by  Ellen  Douglas,  who  was  in  an  adjoining  apartment  and 
witnessed  all.  In  an  aggravated  form  like  the  present 
one,  this  is  a  serious  offence,  and  he  will  do  well  to  escape 
imprisonment." 

"  Which  Heaven  grant  he  may  not  do  !"  rejoined  Dud- 
ley ;  "  for  if  all  I  hear  of  him  it  is  time  his  infamous  career 
received  a  check  sufficient  to  startle  him  into  a  long-needed 
reformation.  But  as  I  am  to  appear  against  him,  I  sup- 
pose it  is  high  time  I  was  there." 

"True;  the  Recorder  holds  his  court  early;  and  should 
his  turn  come,  and  there  be  no  witnesses  present,  he  will 
be  discharged." 

"  Then  I  will  go  at  once.     But  as  regards  Virginia  ?' 

"  Why,  she  must  along  with  you.  Stay  !  I  will  inform 
her  at  once,  and  Edith  shall  be  her  companion.  You  will 
remain  to  Edgar's  examination  also,  at  which  I  will  en- 
deavor to  be  present  myself;"  and  the  lawyer  hastened  out 
of  the  library. 

In  less  than  five  minutes  he  returned,  accompanied  by 
Virginia  and  his  daughter,  both  bonnetted  and  shawled  for 
instant  departure.  Dudley  greeted  each  warmly,  and  im- 
mediately conducted  them  to  a  splendid  barouche  standing 
at  the  door,  attached  to  which  was  a  noble  span  of  black 
horses,  and,  holding  the  reins,  a  black  driver  in  livery. 

Assisting  the  ladies  into  the  vehicle,  Dudley  was  in  the 
act  of  following,  when  he  heard  his  name  pronounced  in  a 
19 


222  THE   FORGED    WILL. 

low  tone ;  and  looking  round,  to  his  surprise  and  indigna- 
tion, he  beheld  Nathan  Wesley. 

"  I've  been  seeking  you  some  time,"  said  the  latter, 
"  and  would  like  a  few  minutes'  conversation." 

"  Another  time,  then,"  replied  Dudley ;  and  springing 
into  the  carriage,  he  gave  some  directions  to  the  driver, 
who,  cracking  his  whip,  drove  off  in  haste. 

Wesley  gazed  after  him  for  some  moments,  with  a  crest- 
,  fallen  countenance ;  then  muttering  something  in  a  low 
tone,  he  ascended  the  steps  and  rung  the  bell.  Inquiring 
for  Mr.  Morton,  he  was  shown  into  the  library,*where  he 
remained  in  eager  conference  with  the  lawyer  for  more 
than  half  an  hour,  when  both  came  forth  together,  and  the 
latter,  ordering  his  carriage,  rode  swiftly  away,  while  the 
other  sauntered  off  leisurely  in  a  mood  of  deep  abstrac- 
tion. 

Meantime  Dudley  and  his  companions  reached  the  po- 
lice-court, just  as  Acton  was  brought  forward  for  examina- 
tion. His  features  were  very  pale  and  somewhat  haggard, 
as  though  he  had  experienced  a  'restless  night  of  mental 
torture.  As  Dudley  entered  the  court  room,  in  advance 
of  Virginia  and  Edith,  Acton  gave  him  a  look  of  hate  and 
malicious  defiance  ;  but  perceiving  the  next  moment  who 
followed,  his  features  crimsoned  to  his  forehead,  his  coun- 
tenance fell,  and  he  finally  hung  his  head  in  very  shame. 
And  well  he  might !  to  behold  his  own  cousin,  whom  he 
had  so  shamefully  abused,  in  company  with  her  to  whom 
he  had  paid  his  addresses,  before  whom  he  would  have  ap- 
peared the  most  honorable  of  his  sex,  and  to  whose  hand 
he  had  already  boasted  of  having  a  claim,  much  to  the  an- 
noyance of  at  least  a  score  of  discomfited  suitors.  It  was 
a  punishment  far  beyond  that  of  any  prison,  to  be  so  ex-w 
posed  at  such  a  time  ;  and  could  he  have  had  his  wish  at 
that  Tnomont,  the  .stone  walls  of  the  mighty  fabric  bononth 


THE   EXAMINATION.  223 

which  he  stood,  would  have  crumbled  to  pieces  and  buried 
him  under  their  ruins. 

"  Well,  sir  !  what  is  your  name  ?"  said  the  sharp,  clear, 
stern  voice  of  the  Recorder. 

"Acton  Atherton." 

ur  occupation,  sir  ?" 

gentleman  at  large,"  replied  Acton,  somewhat 
pompously,  thinking  such  a  course  would  best  cover  the 
disgrace  he  felt  in  being  so  arraigned  and  questioned. 

"  Umph !  hardly  at  large  now,"  rejoined  the  other, 
dryly.  frWell,  sir,  what  brought  you  here  ?" 

"My  legs." 

"  Ha  !  sir,  you  are  impudent !  Have  a  care,  young 
man,  or  I  will  commit  you  for  contempt  of  court.  Has 
any  one  present  a  charge  to  prefer  against  Acton  Ather- 
ton?" he  asked,  looking  around. 

"  So  please  your  Honor,  I  have,"  answered  Dudley, 
stepping  forward. 

"  Well,  sir,  your  name,  residence,  and  occupation  ?" 

Dudley  drew  close  to  the  bench,  and  gave  satisfactory 
replies,  in  a  low  tone.  He  was  then  sworn  and  told  to 
proceed  with  his  accusation ;  which  he  did — stating  clearly 
and  concisely  under  what  circumstances  he  had  found  the 
prisoner.  Virginia  being  next  called  upon  and  put  under 
oath,  told  her  own  story  briefly,  confirming  the  words  of 
Dudley.  The  Recorder  mused  a  moment,  and  then  said : 

"  As  the  lady  went  willingly,  I  do  not  think  I  can  find 
this  a  criminal  oflence,  although  one  worthy  of  the  severest 
censure." 

"  So  please  your  Honor,"  returned  Dudley,  "  I  do 
accuse  Acton  Atherton  of  detaining  Virginia  Courtly 
against  her  will." 

"  Ha  !"  rejoined  the  magistrate ;  "is  this  so?  Wero 
you  so  detained,  Miss  Courtly  ?" 


224  THE   FORGED  TTILL. 

"  I  was." 

"  This  alters  the  case  materially.  Have  you  proof  of 
this  ?" 

"  One  Ellen  Douglas  was  a  witnesa^o  it." 

"  Let  Ellen  Douglas  come  forward." 

"I  beg  leave  to  say,  your  Honor,"  spoke  up  D^ttey 
again,  "  she  is  too  ill  to  attend  court.  I  have  seiner 
this  morning,  and  she  is  unable  to  quit  her  apartment. 
But  if  your  Honor  like,  her  deposition  can  be  taken." 

"It  is  scarcely  necessary  at  this  examination,  unless 
the  prisoner  desires  it.  Let  the  officers  who  arrested  Acton 
Atherton  stand  forward,  and  state  what  they  know  of  this 
affair. 

The  watchmen  appeared,  and  being  sworn,  gave  in  their 
evidence,  which,  so  far  as  it  went,  corroborated  what  had 
gone  before.  The  Recorder  mussed  again  a  short  time, 
and  then  said,  addressing  Acton : 

"  Mr.  Atherton,  as  the  matter  stands,  I  shall  be  under 
the  necessity  of  binding  you  over  to  the  next  term  of  the 
Court  of  Sessions.  You  will  give  bail  in  the  sum  'of  one 
thousand  dollars,  or  be  remanded  to  prison." 

At  this  moment  the  father  of  the  accused  came  rushing 
into  the  court-room,  much  excited ;  and  glancing  from  one 
to  another,  with  an  expression  of  mortification  and  dismay, 
mingled  with  a  look  of  defiance  as  his  eye  fell  upon  Dudley, 
he  exclaimed,  in  a  hasty,  pompous  tone : 

"  What  is  this  ?— what  is  this  ?" 

"  Silence,  sir  !"  cried  the  Recorder,  frowning.  "  Is  there 
any  one  present  who  will  go  bail  for  Acton  Atherton?" 

"I  will,"  said  his  father;  and  inquiring  the  amount,  he 
proceeded  to  give  bonds  for  his  son's  appearance  at  the 
proper  time  and  place. 

Acton  was  now  at  liberty;  and  bestowing  a  glance  of 
hate  upon  Dudley,  who  returned  his  look  with  perfect  com- 


THE   EXAMINATION.  225 

posure,  he  hurried  from  the  court-room  without  speaking 
a  word. 

"  This  is  your  doing,  sirrah  ?"  said  Atherton,  coming 
close  to  Dudley,  and  fairly  hissing  the  words  in  his  ear. 
"  Do  not  flatter  yourself  I  will  easily  forget  it." 

"  Rather  say  your  own  doing,  in  teaching  your  son  so 
little  of  the  character  of  a  gentleman,"  replied  Dudley, 
calmly,  but  haughtily.  "As  to  your  forgetting  or  remem- 
bering, both  are  alike  immaterial  to  me;"  and  turning 
his  back  on  the  other,  he  coolly  walked  away. 

Atherton  glared  after  him  with  a  look  in  which  all  his 
worst  passions  seemed  blended.  Then  turning,  his  eye 
fell  upon  Edith,  and  his  whole  manner  and  appearance 
changed,  from  that  of  a  fiend  incarnate,  to  an  humble  obse- 
quious, affable,  smiling  gentleman. 

"How  fares  my  fair  Edith  this  morning?"  he  said, 
bowing  politely,  and  speaking  in  his  blandest  tones :  "  and 
how  is  her  good  father?" 

"  We  are  usually  well,  I  thank  you,"  Edith  answered, 
somewhat  coldly. 

"  This  is  a  very  painful  affair  to  a  fond  father's  feelings," 
he  pursued,  in  a  low  tone — "  this  youthful  folly  and  indis- 
cretion of  Acton.  •  I  grieve  sorely  that  my  son  should  have 
been  tempted  to  such  imprudence,  by  one  in  whom  I  had 
placed  the  utmost  confidence.  You  must  bear  in  mind,  my 
dear  Edith,  that  it  was  not  a  scheme  of  his  own  planning, 
and  that  he  was  drawn  into  it  by  the  machinations  of 
another.  But  it  has  taught  him  a  painful  lesson,  which  he 
will  never  forget.  He  already  regrets  it  as  much  as 
myself;  and  you  may  rest  assured,  on  the  word  of  a  father, 
he  will  never  be  guilty  of  the  like  again." 

"  I  trust  not,"  rejoined  Edith. 

"  It  rejoices  me,  sweet  Edith,  to  see  you  take  sufficient 
-st  in  him  to  be  present  at  his  examination.  There/'  he 
19* 


226  THE   FORGED   WILL. 


added,  as,  coloring  deeply,  she  was  about  to  reply  :  "  There, 
there — I  see — no  excuse :  I  will  spare  your  blushes.  But  who 
is  this  pretty  companion  of  yours?"  and  he  glanced  towards 
Virginia,  who,  on  his  addressing  Edith  in  a  low  tone,  had 
modestly  withdrawn  out  of  ear-shot,  and  now  stood  regarding 
him,  with  heightened  color,  and  an  expression  in  which 
maidenly  timidity,  sadness  and  curiosity  were  strangely 
mingled.  "I  have  rarely  seen  a  more  lovely  counte- 
nance." 

"  Or  a  sweeter  owner,"  rejoined  Edith.  "  Shall  I  intro- 
troduce  you?" 

"  0,  with  pleasure,  Miss  Edith." 

There  was  a  smile  of  triumph  on  the  features  of  the 
latter,  as  she  advanced  to  her  companion,  and,  taking  her 
by  the  hand,  said : 

"Miss  Virginia  Courtly,  allow  me  to  present  you  to 
your  uncle,  Mr.  Oliver  Atherton,  the  father  of  Acton,  who 
had  the  kindness,  no  later  than  last  night,  to  steal  you 
away  by  treacherous  arts,  and  basely  misuse  your  con- 
fidence." 

Had  an  earthquake  at  that  moment  shook  the  Tombs  to 
ruins,  it  would  have  added  nothing  to  the  astonishment 
and  dismay  of  Oliver  Atherton.  As  Edith  began  to  speak, 
he  was  just  in  the  act  of  bending  forward,  with  a  smile  on 
his  hypocritical  features,  and  his  hand  partly  extended  to 
greet  his  new  acquaintance ;  but  as  her  first  words  caught 
his  ear,  he  started  back,  his  whole  countenance  changed, 
became  as  pale  as  death,  and  then  as  quickly  flushed  with 
bewildered  confusion.  For  a  moment  he  stood  regarding 
her  as  one  spell-bound;  and  then  muttering  a  low,  deep 
oath  of  disappointment,  turned  on  his  heel  and  rushed 
from  the  court-room. 

"  Let  the  prisoner,  Edgar  Courtly,  be  brought  forward 
for  examination,"  said  the  sharp,  clear  voice  of  the 


.    THE   EXAMINATION.  227 

Recorder  at  this  moment ;  and  both  Virginia  and  Edith 
became  very  pale  and  tremulous  as  they  heard  the  words. 

"  Give  yourselves  no  alarm,  my  friends,"  said  Dudley, 
instantly  joining  the  maidens ;  "  for  Edgar  Courtly,  believe 
me,  will  come  off  triumphant." 

As  he  spoke,  Calvin  Morton  entered  the  court-room  and 
advanced  to  the  party  with  hasty  steps. 

"  Heaven  save  us  all !"  he  exclaimed :  "  I  trust  I  am  not 
too  late  !" 

"  Just  in  time  for  the  examination  of  Edgar,"  replied 
Dudley,  "  but  too  late  to  witness  the  discomfiture  of  his 
uncle." 

"  Ha !  yes — I  met  him  coming  down  the  steps,"  rejoined 
Morton ;  "  and,  from  his  manner,  I  almost  fancied  him 
insane.  What  has  happened  ?" 

Edith  hastened  to  explain. 

"  Well,  he  will  be  worse  confounded  and  discomfitted 
than  this  ere  long,"  replied  her  father,  "  or  I  am  very  much 
mistaken.  I  have  him  now,"  he  pursued,  with  sparkling 
eyes  :  "  I  have  him  now,  the  hypocritical  villain !  Virginia, 
you  shall  have  justice!" 

At  this  moment  Edgar  Courtly  entered  the  court-room, 
attended  by  an  officer,  and  all  eyes  eagerly  turned  upon 
him.  He  was  very  pale,  and  evidently  much  excited ;  but 
there  was  the  proud  look  of  conscious  innocence  on  his 
noble  countenance,  and  his  head  was  erect,  and  his  step 
firm  and  bold.  On  seeing  him,  for  a  moment  Virginia 
half  supported  herself  against  the  agitated  Edith,  and  the 
next  could  hardly  resist  the  impulse  to  rush  forward  and 
throw  herself  into  his  arms.  As  Edgar  beheld  his  friends, 
his  features  lighted  with  a  look  of  joy  and  hope,  and  his 
feelings  became  powerfully  excited.  Subduing  them  as 
much  as  possible,  he  made  a  cheerful  bow  of  recognition  to 
each ;  but  the  warm,  tell-tale  blood  deeply  crimsoned  his 


228  THE   FORGED   WILL. 

fine,  manly  features,  as  he  encountered  the  soft,  gray  eye 
of  the  lovely  Edith  fixed  upon  him,  with  an  expression  of 
sympathetic  tenderness ;  while  a  close  observer  might  have 
seen  that  her  own  fair  countenance  brightened  with  an 
unwonted  glow. 

"Remain  where  you  are  for  the  present,"  said  Morton 
to  his  daughter  and  Virginia ;  and  advancing  with  Dudley 
to  Edgar,  each  shook  his  hand  warmly,  and  bade  him  be 
of  good  cheer. 

"Edgar  Courtly,"  said  the  Recorder,  glancing  over  a 
paper  in  his  hand,  "I  perceive  you  are  arrested  at  the 
instance  of  Oliver  Atherton,  on  the  accusation  of  forgery. 
Let  the  prosecutor  stand  forth." 

"  He  is  not  present,  your  Honor,"  replied  Dudley. 

"  If  there  is  any  one  here  who  has  the  charge  of  forgery 
to  prefer  against  the  prisoner,  Edgar  Courtly,  let  him  or 
her  stand  forth !" 

Not  a  soul  moved.  The  Recorder  repeated  his  words. 
Still  no  one  stirred,  and  the  silence  was  so  deep  you  could 
have  heard  the  fall  of  a  pin. 

"  Once  more,  and  for  the  last  time,"  said  the  magistrate, 
as  he  again  repeated  his  words.  Then  finding  the  result 
the  same  as  before,  he  added,  hastily :  "  Our  time  is  too 
valuable  to  be  trifled  with.  Mr.  Courtly,  you  are  dis- 
charged." 

Scarcely  was  the  last  sentence  uttered,  when,  with  a  cry  of 
joy,  Virginia  sprung  forward,  and  was  caught  in  the  arms 
of  her  brother,  and  their  tears  of  happiness  mingled. 
Then  Edgar  received  the  congratulations  of  his  true  friends 
— but  heard  nothing  that  thrilled  more  sweelty  to  his  very 
soul,  to  be  treasured  there  as  "  a  joy  forever,"  than  the 
simple  sentence  uttered  by  Edith,  as,  her  delicate  hand 
locked  in  his,  she  fixed  her  mild,  gray  eyes  tenderly  upon  him, 
-,.tid,  earnestly: 


THE   EXAMINATION  '229 

"  I  knew — I  knew  you  were  innocent !" 

"Come,"  said  Morton,  "this  is  no  place  for  us.  Our 
carriages  wait  below.  Edgar,  you  shall  with  me  and  Edith. 
Cla — Dudley  I  mean — we  will  trust  Virginia  to  your  gal- 
lantry. Sorry  to  part  brother  and  sister  at  such  an 
interesting  time — but  can't  help  it.  I  have  something 
important  to  tell  you  all — but  not  until  we  reach  home." 

No  one  of  course  objected  to  an  arrangement  so  conso- 
nant to  the  feelings  of  each ;  and  Edgar,  offering  his  arm 
to  Edith,  while  Dudley  did  the  same  to  Virginia — preceded 
by  Morton,  who  jocularly  remarked  he  was  one  too  many 
— the  whole  party  quitted  the  Tombs,  and  descended  the 
long  flight  of  stone  steps  with  very  different  feelings  from 
what  they  had  experienced  in  making  their  ascent. 

"Yonder,"  spoke  Edith,  in  a  low  tone,  pointing  down 
before  her,  slightly  shuddering,  and  pressing  closer  to  the 
side  of  Edgar :  "  Yonder  is  the  spot  where  you  saved  my 
life." 

"  The  happiest  act  I  ever  performed,"  was  the  low, 
earnest  reply. 

Entering  the  splendid  vehicles  which  stood  in  waiting, 
each  party  signed  the  other  a  cheerful  adieu  ;  and  then  off 
went  the  horses  at  a  gay,  proud  trot,  as  if  conscious  they 
bore  away  lighter  hearts  than  they  had  brought  hither. 

The  ride  was  not  long,  it  is  true ;  but  four  of  the  com- 
pany fancied  it  the  most  delightful  they  had  ever  expe- 
rienced. 


CHAPTER  XX.  i 

THE   DAMNING   DEED. 

THE  communication  which  Morton  had  to  make,  was  on* 
of  great  importance  to  Edgar  and  all  interested  in  his  wel- 
fare, and  was  the  result  of  his  interview  with  the  treacher 
ous  Nathan  Wesley.  What  this  communication  was,  it  is 
not  our.  purpose  here  to  reveal ;  suffice,  that  it  altered  Ed- 
gar's previous  arrangement  of  taking  up  law  as  a  profession. 

A  week  rolled  away,  and  both  Edgar  and  Virginia  re- 
mained the  honored  guests  of  the  Mortons.  Dudley  was  a 
daily  visitor,  and  always  found  a  cordial  welcome ;  but 
from  none  a  more  heart-felt  one,  perhaps,  than  from  Vir- 
ginia. In  company  with  him,  her  brother  and  Edith,  she 
took  daily  rides  or  strolls  through  the  city,  and  appeared 
to  enjoy  herself  as  much  as  it  was  possible  for  one  who#had 
so  recently  been  bereaved  of  an  affectionate  and  beloved 
parent.  But  with  herself  and  brother,  the  sad  thought  of 
their  poor  mother  would  intrude  itself  upon  them  in  their 
happiest  moments,  and  cloud  the  sunshine  that  otherwise 
had  lain  upon  their  hearts. 

But  leaving  those  who  form  the  bright  parts  in  this 
our  picture  of  lifej  we  must  return  to  Acton  Atherton.  We 
have  said  that  one  of  his  strongest  passions  was  that  of 
vanity ;  and  never  had  this  received  so  powerful  a  shock  as 
at  his  examination,  when  he  was  not  only  confronted  with 
his  cousin,  whom  he  had  so  basely  treated,  but  also  with 
one  in  whose  eyes  he  would  have  stood  a  paragon  of  virtue : 
and  who,  as  he  now  saw,  being  the  companion  of  the  other, 
must  necessarily  know  much  of  his  dissolute  and  even  guilty 
(230) 


THE   DAMNING   DEED.  231 

career.  As  soon  as  bonds  had  been  entered  into  for  his 
appearance,  he  quitted  the  Tombs,  feeling  himself  abashed, 
humiliated  and  disgraced.  With  a  clouded  brow  and  hur- 
ried pace,  he  made  his  way  homeward,  plotting  in  his  own 
dark  mind  what  steps  to  take  to  make  even  a  .show  of  main- 
taining his  honor,  by  retaliation  on  those  who  had  beentho 
means  of  exposing  him.  That  Wesley  had  played  a  double 
game,  he  felt  well  convinced ;  and  his  design  was  to  seek 
him  out  first,  upbraid  him  with  treachery,  and  should  his 
suspicions  prove  correct,  let  his  mode  of  revenge  be  the  re- 
sult of  succeeding  circumstances. 

As  chance  would  have  it,  he  met  Wesley  on  the  steps  of 
his  father's  mansion — both  having  arrived  from  opposite 
directions  at  the  same  moment — and  seizing  him  by  the 
collar,  he  accused  him  at  once  of  having  betrayed  him,  and 
threatened  his  life  on  the  spot  should  he  dare  to  deny  it. 
But  notwithstanding  this,  Wesley  did  deny  it,  with  all  the 
brazen  effrontery  of  which  an  accomplished  villain  like  him- 
self was  capable.  He  did  more.  He  not  only  denied  hav- 
ing given  even  a  hint  of  the  matter  to  a  living  soul,  but  he 
openly  accused  Clarence  Malcolm  of  being  the  cause ;  and 
said  that  he  had,  by  some  unaccountable  means,  played  the 
spy  upon  them — overheard,  he  presumed,  their  secret  con- 
ference— had  been  and  warned  Ellen  Douglasj  and  then  had 
laid  in  wait  to  entrap  them ;  and  wound  up  by  swearing 
roundly,  that  going  to  Mott  street  to  see  how  the  affair 
would  terminate  and  be  at  hand,  in  case  he  (Acton)  needed 
help,  he  had  been  chased  by  the  watch,  set  on  by  Clarence, 
and  had  barely  escaped  a  night's  imprisonment  by  out- 
running them. 

To  this  story  of  course  Acton  did  not  give  full  credence 
— knowing  the  matchless  ability  of  the  attorney  to  forge  a 
truth-like  lie  on  any  and  all  occasions  where  it  suited  his 
humor  or  purpose — but  as  he  had  no  evidence  to  combat  it,  he 


232  THE   FORGED   WILL. 

was  obliged  to  let  it  pass  current ;  besides,  his  anger  now 
having  a  more  worthy  and  important  subject  on  which  to 
vent  itself,  he  concentrated  his  whole  soul  upon  devising 
means  to  punish  the  principal  aggressor. 

"  This  hated  Malcolm,"  he  said,  bitterly — "  how  shall  I 
revenge  myself  on  him  for  his  insults  ?" 

"  Challenge  him,"  suggested  Wesley,  who,  whatever 
might  be  the  result,  fancied  Acton  would  get  the  worst  of 
it,  or  at  least  become  deeper  sunk  than  ever  in  the  mire  in 
which  he  was  already  floundering. 

"  Ay,  that  is  it !"  cried  Acton.  "  Challenge  him  I  will, 
and  you  shall  be  my  second,  Wesley !" 

And  challenge  him  Acton  accordingly  did ;  but  his  a*n- 
swer  was  what  might  have  been  expected  from  one  of  Clar- 
ence Malcolm's  upright,  fearless,  noble  nature  ;  and  should 
serve  as  a  model  for  all  such  as,  placed  in  similar  circum- 
stances, have  the  manly  courage  to  do  right,  without  re- 
gard to  the  opinions  of  a  few  empty-headed  coxcombs, 
whose  sole  valor  consists  in  fighting  bravely,  in  imagina- 
tion, before  a  parterre  of  sentimental  ladies. 

The  note  ran  thus. 

"SiR: — I  regret  you  have  made  it  a  necessity  for  me  to 
inform  you  I  am  not  the  hot-brained,  mad-cap  fool  you  take 
me  for.  That  I  neither  love  nor  fear  you,  you  may  rest 
assured ;  and  also,  that  when  I  require  a  target  to  shoot 
at,  I  shall  not  gratify  your  false  vanity  by  selecting  your 
person  therefor,  and  thus  exalting  you  in  your  own  estima- 
tion to  the  dignified  position  of  a  hero.  Our  correspon- 
dence ceases  here.  All  letters  sent  by  you,  henceforth, 
will  be  returned  with  unbroken  seals. 

"  CLARENCE  MALCOLM, 

"  Of  Malcolm  Place." 
"To  ACTON  ATHERTON, 

"Of  No,  — , Street." 


THE   DAMNING   DEED.  233 

This  was  severely  cutting  to  Acton,  and  so  he  felt  it,  and 
swore  he  would  have  revenge  ;  and  had  the  parties  soon 
met,  doubtless  something  serious  would  have  been  the  con- 
sequence ;  but  as  it  was,  some  two  or  three  days'  reflection 
served  to  dampen  the  ardor  of  the  challenger  for  an  encoun- 
ter with  one  from  whom  he  could  only  reasonably  expect 
to  come  off  second  best.  In  fact,  the  whole  nature  of 
Acton  seemed  to  have  undergone  a  remarkable  change, 
even  in  this  short  period.  From  a  gay,  dashing,  rollick- 
ing, piquant  fellow,  he  had  suddenly  become  morose,  taci- 
turn and  gloomy,  holding  little  communion  with  any  thing 
save  his  own  thoughts.  He  strolled  through  the  city  as 
usual,  visited  his  old  haunts  of  gambling  and  dissipation, 
and  often  drank  and  played  himself — yet  with  such  an  ab- 
stracted mood,  such  indifference  as  to  success,  and  with  so 
much  silence  and  reserve,  that  his  old  associates  often  ral- 
lied him  upon  his  gravity,  and  swore  he  must  have  the  oc- 
cupation of  a  Methodist  parson  in  serious  contemplation. 
But  their  jests  and  jeers  moved  him  not,  their  remarks  on 
his  changed  appearance  fell  unheeded,  and  their  questions 
remained  unanswered. 

Thus  matters  continued  for  a  week,  without  showing  any 
visible  change  in  Acton  after  the  first  two  days,  though 
both  his  father  and  sister  strove  to  break  his  gloomy  de- 
pression of  spirits — the  former  by  agreeing  to  see  him  safely 
over  the  coming  trial,  only  cautioning  him  to  be  more  pru- 
dent hereafter — and  the  latter  by  promising  to  overlook 
the  past,  and  endeavoring,  as  much  as  lay  in  her  power, 
to  remove  the  disgrace  he  had  put  upon  the  family,  and 
set  him  right  again  with  Edith. 

In  truth,  Arabella  loved  her  brother  ^ith  a  strong  sis- 
terly affection — perhaps  from  his  nature  being  so  different 
from  her  own — perhaps  from  a  natural  yearning  of  the 
heart  for  something  to  cling  to  and  entwine  itself  around, 
20 


234  THE   FORGED  WILL. 


as  the  vine  does  around  the  tree  its  supporter — and  rarely 
to  him  displayed  that  haughty  pride  she  did  towards  almost 
every  other.  But  pride,  as  we  have  said  elsewhere,  was 
her  ruling  passion ;  and  setting  this  aside,  Arabella  had 
fewer  faults  than  many  of  her  sex  who  have  been  upheld 
as  models  of  perfection.  ,  With  her,  unlike  her  father, 
there  was  no  duplicity — no  artifice,  to  make  herself  appear 
better  than  she  was— no  masking  for  the  occasion ;  but  all 
was  plain,  straight-forward,  frank  and  artless ;  and  if  she 
was  not  at  all  times  courteous,  she  was  at  least  ever 
honest  in  the  expression  of  her  opinions  and  sentiments. 
There  was  a  wide  difference-  between  her  pride  and  the 
coxcomb-vanity  of  her  brother ;  for  where  hers  ennobled, 
his  debased ;  where  hers  made  dignity,  his  excited  ridicule ; 
where  hers  upheld  truth  and  honor,  his  gloried  in  craft  and 
deceit ;  where  hers  required  the  inner  sanctuary  of  her 
heart  to  be  pure  in  the  sight  of  Heaven,  his  only  wanted 
the  outward  person  to  be  attractive  in  the  eyes  of  the 
world ;  in  short,  where  hers  applauded  and  sustained  true 
virtue,  his  revelled  and  sunk  in  vice.  Arabella  was  proud, 
and  Acton  was  vain,  and  we  have  drawn  the  distinction  as 
we  understand  it. 

And  to  do  Arabella  justice,  we  must  say  she  was,  for 
the  most  part,  right  at  heart,  and  would  not  intentionally 
do  a  wrong  action.  Though  she  might  be  led  into  error  in 
the  heat  of  passion,  she  would  sincerely  regret  it  in  moments 
of  cool  reflection ;  and,  if  possible  to  do  so,  without  wounding 
her  haughty  pride,  would  ever  make  the  proper  repa- 
ration. When  she  so  scornfully  told  Clarence  his  state- 
ment concerning  her  father's  ill-treatment  of  his  kins- 
people  was  false-Vthat  it  was  a  base,  willful,  malignant 
slander — she  believed  she  spoke  the  truth :  not  that  she 
thought  him  seeking  to  deceive  her,  but  that  he  himself 
had  been  deceived  The  assertion  of  the  Courtlys  being 


THE   DAMNING   DEED.  235 

in  town  at  all,  was  as  much  as  she  could  credit ;  and  it  was 
not  until  the  exposure  of  Acton's  abduction  Of  Virginia, 
and  the  knowledge  of  Edgar's  arrest  at  the  instance  of  her 
father,  the  news  of  which  fell  upon  her  like  a  thunderbolt, 
that  she  began  to  admit  to  herself  there  might  be  some 
truth  in  Malcolm's  report,  and  some  concealed  wrong  which 
reflected  severely  on  her  father.  Then,  had  there  been  an 
opportunity  to  make  Clarence  reparation,  without  too  much 
humiliation,  she  would  have  embraced  it,  and  recalled  her 
hasty  expressions.  She  would  also  have  flown  to  Virginia, 
and  stood  her  friend  and  protector,  only  that  she  knew  she 
was  now  safe  from  further  insult,  and  felt  how  humiliating 
would  be  the  result  to  herself,  in  case  her  motives  should 
not  be  properly  understood  and  appreciated. 

But  to  return  to  Acton. 

A  week  passed  away,  and  found  him,  as  we  have  said,  a 
constant  visiter  of  the  gambling  hells  and  houses  of  dissi- 
pation. The  reform,  so  greatly  needed,  was  still  as  much 
wanting  as  ever.  He  was  changed,  but  not  for  the  better ; 
for  at  heart  the  demon  of  his  nature  was  silently  doing  his 
work,  and  gradually  leading  him  on  to  that  fatal  step  in 
his  already  guilty  career,  which  was  destined  to  plunge  him 
down,  down — far  down — into  the  dark  gulf  of  lasting  shame 
and  endless  remorse. 

Throughout  the  day  preceding  the  night  when  we  again 
introduce  him,  he  had  seemed  much  disturbed  in  mind,  and 
had  dfank  very  freely — so  much  so,  that  at  an  early  hour 
in  the  evening,  he  had  quitted  one  of  the  many  drinking 
saloons  with  which  Broadway  abounded,  with  an  uncertain 
step.  It  was  a  clear,  cold,  star-light  night ;  and  reeling 
against  a  lamp-post,  he  paused  and  cast  his  eyes  upward 
to  the  shining  host,  as  if  in  serious  meditation  upon  the 
thousands  of  distant  worlds  thus  revealed  to  his  unsteady 
gaze.  But  he  mused  not  on  them —  for  dark  and  gloomy 


236  THE   FORGED  WILL. 

thoughts  were  flitting  through  a  brain  made  feverish  by 
the  cursed  Cup,  which  contains  ruin,  insanity,  and  death  ! 
At  this  moment  two  persons  passed  in  eager  conversation, 
and  the  mention  of  his  own  name  arrested  his  attention. 

"  An  unpleasant  fix,  surely,"  said  one,  "  to  run  off  with 
his  own  cousin,  and  get  so  cozened  himself.  They  say  it 
was  all  a  contrived  plan  to  get  him  into  an  ugly  scrape, 
and  that  Ellen  was  at  the  bottom  of  it  all.  She  had  sworn 
to  have  revenge  on  him,  by  making  an  exposure,  and  took 
this  means  to  do  it.  .By  my  faith,  I  should  little  like  to 
be  caught  the  same  way,  and  have  all  my  love  intrigues 
made  known  to  the  girl  whom  I  was  about  to  marry  !" 

"And  I  suppose  Miss  Morton  rejects  him  ?" 

"  Of  course,  and  that  is  why  he  looks  so  disconsolate. 
Poor  fellow  ! — ha,  ha,  ha !  By  my  faith,  I  should  think  it 
would  teach  him  a  little  prudence  in  his  amours  hereafter!" 

"But  do  you  think  Ellen  will  appear  against  him?" 

Think  so  ?  I  know  it.  Do  you  think  she  would  let  such 
an  opportunity  slip  ? — Not  she.  She  will  send  him  to 
Sing-Sing,  if  her  evidence  is  sufficient  to  do  so." 

"  No,  by !  she  won't !"  swore  Acton,  deeply,  as  the 

voice  of  the  speaker  now  died  away  in  the  distance.  fK3o ! 
I  am  the  laughing  stock  of  the  town,  as  I  expec^lr  And 
this  is  her  triumph  !  By  my  soul,  it  shall  be  a  short  one !" 
and  somewhat  sobered  by  the  cold  air,  and  the  rousing  of 
his  worst  passions,  he  drew  his  cloak  which  had  partly 
fallen  from  his  shoulders,  around  him,  and,  turning  into  a 
by-street,  disappeared. 

Half  an  hour  later,  a  person  so  closely  muffled  in  a  cloak  that 
only  his  eyes  were  visible,  rapped  at  the  door  of  Madame 
Costellan's.  To  the  woman  who  answered  his  summons 
for  admittance,  he  handed  an  English  crown,  and  requested 
permission  to  enter  unquestioned.  The  temptation  was 
strong ;  aucl  after  looking  at  him  intently  for  a  moment, 


THE   DAMNING  DEED. 


the  other  gave  a  knowing  wink  and  threw  open  the  door. 
The  stranger  passed  in,  and  with  a  hurried  step  ascended 
to  the  next  story  ;  where,  finding  the  door  of  Ellen's  apart- 
ment ajar,  he  entered  without  knocking,  and  immediately 
closed,  locked  it,  and  withdrew  the  key.  Then  glancing 
around  the  apartment,  with  a  nervous,  eager  look,  and 
seeing  no  one  present,  the  figure  moved  stealthily  to  the 
door  at  the  right,  which  communicated  with  an  elegant  bed- 
chamber of  suitable  dimensions,  and  pushing  it  slightly 
open,  reconnoitered  the  ground  before  proceeding  farther. 
Satisfied,  apparently,  that  all  was  right,  he  swung  the  door 
back  with  some  foree,  and  walked  in  with  a  bold  deter- 
mined air. 

This  apartment  was  furnished  in  keeping  with  the  larger 
one,  with  a  splendid  wardrobe,  toilet-table,  dressing-chair, 
bed,  &c.,  on  the  last  of  which,  her  pale,  thin  features  partly 
revealed  by  the  dim  light  which  stood  on  the  center-table, 
reposed  Ellen  Douglas,  now  sleeping  that  feverish  sleep 
which  is  often  the  result  of  mental  anguish  and  bodily 
ailment,  and  all  unconscious  who  stood  by  her  side,  gazing 
upon  her  with  a  darkened  brow  and  lips  compressed.  The 
slurnberer  was  evidently  dreaming  of  that  eventful  period 
when  aW^Kr  fresh  and  tender  passions  were  called  into 
action,  ere  her  now  guilty  soul  had  trod  the  dark  paths  of 
sin  and  misery  —  when  she  was  beautiful  in  innocence  —  the 
gayest  of  the  gay  and  the  happiest  of  the  happy  —  for  she 
murmured,  in  tender,  pleading,  touching  accents  : 

"  Nay,  mother,  you  wrong  him  by  such  suspicions  !  I 
tell  you  he  is  all  that  is  noble  and  manly  ;  and  0,  mother, 
I  love  him  !  See  !  see  !  what  a  beautiful  present  he  has 
given  me,  mother  !  It  is  a  massive  diamond  ring  —  and  it 
is  to  be  our  wedding  ring.  0,  mother,  he  is  so  rich,  so 
handsome,  and  he  loves  me  so  !  Nay,  now,  you  shall  not 
thide  me  !  I  tell  you  my  Acton  is  all  that  is  noble,  honor- 
20* 


238  THE   FORGED  WILL. 

able  and  generous,  and  I  will  not  listen  to  aught  said 
against  him!" 

On  hearing  these  words,  the  intruder,  who  still  remained 
muffled  in  his  cloak,  became  violently  agitated  ;  and  sinking 
upon  a  seat,  bowed  his  face  forward  upon  his  hands  and 
groaned.  The  groan  started  Ellen,  without  awaking  her 
to  consciousness,  and  apparently  changed  the  current  of 
her  thoughts;  for  the  next  moment  she  turned  over  quickly, 
partly  sprung  up  in  bed,  and  pointing  with  her  finger,  as 
chance  would  have  it,  toward  the  figure  in  the  cloak, 
exclaimed,  vehemently: 

"  There  !  there  !  do  you  not  see  him  there  ?  the  base  vil- 
lain— the  monster — the  devil  incarnate  !  I  tell  you  beware 
of  him  ! — for  his  sight  is  poison — his  touch  the  Seal  of 
death  !  Avaunt,  thou  fiend  in  human  shape  ! — avaunt ! 
No,  no,  girl,"  she  continued  hurriedly,  "  he  shall  not  harm 
you  !  Me  he  has  ruined,  but  you  he  shall  not  harm  !  No, 
sweet  Virginia,  you  are  safe,  and  he  shall  suffer  for  his 
baseness,  so  sure  as  there  is  a  God  of  Justice !  What! 
your  cousin  ?  Heavens !  how  strange  !  Ha !  you  want 
proof,  eh  ? — proof  ?  Well,  I  am  ill  now,  but  as  soon  as 
able  I  will  appear  against  him." 

"Never!"  cried  the  intruder,  springing  to  his  feet  with 
an  oath,  letting  the  cloak  fall,  and  disclosing  the  features 
of  Acton,  now  frightfully  distorted  with  angry  passions. 
"Never!"  he  fairly  shouted,  drawing  a  dagger  from  his 
bosom.  "  By  all  my  hopes  of  security,  there  shall  be  one 
witness  the  less  !" 

His  voice  awoke  Ellen  to  a  full  consciousness,  and 
beholding  him  in  an  attitude  so  menacing,  she  sunk  back 
upon  her  pillow  with  a  cry  of  alarm.  For  a  moment  she 
regarded  him  with  a  peculiar  look,  in  which  various  pas- 
sions mingled,  and  then  said  in  a  calm,  deep  tone : 


THE    DAMNING   DEED.  239 

"  What  do  you  here  Acton  Atherton  ?  Will  you  not 
allow  me  to  die  in  peace  ?" 

"No  !"  cried  Acton,  fiercely ;  "you  do  not  deserve  such 
a  death !" 

"  Monster !  begone  !  or  you  will  drive  me  mad ;  and 
already  I  feel  my  poor  hrain  on  the  verge  of  chaos.  Is  it 
not  enough  that  you  have  ruined  and  brought  me  to  this, 
but  you  must  now  appear,  Satan  like,  to  gloat  in  triumph 
above  my  dying  bed  ?" 

"Prove  to  me,"  Acton  rejoined,  a  dark  gleam  of  malice 
in  his  now  fiery  eyes :  "  prove  to  me,  Ellen  Douglas,  that 
it  is  your  dying  bed,  and  you  shall  see  my  face  no  more !" 

"  And  this  is  he  whom  I  have  so  loved!"  cried  Ellen, 
bursting  into  tears ;  "  for  whom  I  have  sacrificed  earthly 
reputation,  and  perilled  my  soul  eternally  !  Oh  God !  oh 
God !  the  way  of  the  transgressor  is  truly  hard  I" 

"  Tis  false!"  returned  Acton;  "you  never  loved  me! 
You  thought  to  share  my  name  and  fortune,  and  played 
your  part  to  perfection — but  you  never  loved  me !' 

"  As  I  hope  for  mercy  beyond  the  grave,"  rejoined 
Ellen,  solemnly,  "  I  loved  you  with  a  pure  affection,  and 
only  thought  of  your  position'so  far  as  it  might  exalt  you 
and  make  you  happy." 

"  Then  why  did  you  turn  against  me  in  my  hour  of 
trouble  ?" 

"  I  did  not.  It  was  you  who  plotted  against  me,  to  cast 
me  off  forever,  and  put  another  in  the  place,  which,  in 
God's  sight,  was  truly  mine.  You  had  resolved  to  wed 
Edith  Morton !" 

"  And  you  to  prevent  it !" 

"Yes,  I  resolved  to  prevent  it,  and  trust  I  have." 

"  And  this  was  your  love  ?" 

"  Surely  so ;  for  if  any  one  had  a  right  to  your  hand  it 
TT&S  I — I  who  had  sacrificed  so  much  for  you,  and  borne 


•240  THE   FORGED   WILL. 

80  patiently  with  your  many  failings -and  false  vows.  I 
had  a  right  to  expect  you  would  give  me  your  hand,  if 
not  your  heart — -"nay,  even  felt  I  had  a  right  to  demand  it." 

"  And  is  it  possible  you  could  be  so  ignorant  of  the 
world,  as  to  suppose  I  would  bestow  my  name  upon  one 
who  had  disgraced  her  own  ?" 

"Villain  !"  cried  Ellen,  with  all  the  vehemence  her  weak 
state  would  allow,  starting  up  in  bed,  her  eyes  flashing 
fire,  and  her  pale  countenance  disturbed  by  many  contend- 
ing passions :  "  why  do  you  come  here,  at  this  time,  to 
taunt  me  with  being  the  creature  of  your  own  devilish 
arts  ?  If  I  disgraced  my  name,  it  was  you  who  made  me, 
and  on  you  the  sin  shall  deeply  recoil !  "Ay,"  she  added, 
with  prophetic  power,  "  it  shall  recoil  upon  you  through 
all  time !  and  the  demon  Remorse  shall  gnaw  at  your 
heart's  core,  and,  like  the  fabled  Vampire  of  old,  suck 
your  blood  drop  by  drop  !  and  you  shall  curse  the  hour 
that  gave  you  existence  !  Even  now  I  see,  in  your  pale, 
haggard  features,  the  first  fruits  of  your  guilty  course. 
Already  you  are  a  criminal  in  the  eyes  of  the  law,  and  are 
meditating  another  deed  of  the  darkest  import !  Nay, 
look  not  so  fiercely  upon  me,  Acton  Atherton !  and  clench 
not  your  weapon  with  such  a  nervous  grasp  !  I  can  read 
in  your  dark  countenance  that  you  came  here  for  the  worst 
of  purposes !  Strike,  then,  while  the  devil  prompts,  and 
put  the  crowning  act  to  your  wickedness !  Think  not  I 
fear  you,  or  longer  fear  to  die  !  Better  death  than  life 
for  one  like  me !  I  cannot  live  disgraced,  without  hope. 
See  here  !  I  bare  my  breast  to  your  gaze.  Here  is  my 
heart — a  heart  that  beat  the  truest  love  for  you,  until  your 
own  unrighteous  acts  wrought  a  fearful  change.  Place 
your  steel  here  and  drive  it  home ;  and  as  you  have  been 
the  author  of  all  my  misery,  be  my  delivering  angel  from  a 


THE   DAMNING   DEED.  241 

world  of  wo  !  As  with  you  my  dark  career  began — with 
you  let  it  end !  So  may  we  part  forever  !" 

The  tone  and  manner  of  Ellen,  as  she  said  this,  was 
firm  and  decided.  There  was  no  tremor  in  her  voice — no 
agitation  apparent;  and  as  she  concluded,  she  again  sunk 
hack,  and  fixed  her  eyes,  in  which  was  a  cold  and  seem- 
ingly unearthly  light,  steadily  upon  his.  Acton  looked  at 
her  fixedly  a  short  time,  and  seemed  undecided  what 
course  to  pursue.  In  truth,  he  began  to  doubt  if  she  were 
in  her  proper  senses.  At  length  he  said : 

"  If  you  loved  me,  as  you  have  so  often  affirmed,  why 
were  you  not  always  true  to  me  ?" 

"  As  God  is  my  judge,  Acton  Atherton,  and  as  I  hope 
for  His  mercy  hereafter,  I  solemnly  declare  to  you  I  have 
ever  been  as  loyal  to  you  as  if  bound  by  the  laws  of  man 
in  the  holy  covenant  of  wedlock  !" 

'  Then  why  did  you  plot  with  others  against  me  ?" 

"  I  never  did. .  I  heard  of  your  meditated  design  upon 
a  lovely  creature,  whom  I  would  protect  with  my  heart's 
blood,  and  I  determined  to  thwart  it,  and  shame  you  into 
repentance." 

"  And  was  the  dragging  of  me  to  prison  the  proper  way 
to  shame  me  into  repentance •?" 

"  That  was  none  of  my  planning,  and  took  me  as  much 
by  surprise,  as  yourself." 

"  How  went  the  report  abroad,  then,  that  it  was  all  a 
plot  of  your  own  to  get  revenge  ?" 

"  Of  that  I  know  nothing." 

"  And  why  have  you  made  it  your  boast  that  you  will 
appear  against  me  at  the  coming  trial  ?" 

"  I  have  never  so  boasted." 

"Perhaps  you  will  have  the  face  to  deny  that  you  ever 
had  an  intention  of  so  appearing."  * 

"  No,  you  mistake.     I  shall  deny  no  such  thing.     If  I 


242  THE  FORGED  WILL. 

am  summoned  as  a  witness,  and  it  is  in  my  power  to  get 
before  the  court,  I  shall  be  there,  and  give  true  evidence 
of  all  I  know  concerning  your  infamous  proceeding  in  that 
affair  of  your  cousin." 

"And  you  dare  tell  me  this  to  my  face ?"  cried  Acton, 
with  a  burst  of  indignation. 

"  Dare  ?"  echoed  Ellen,  with  emphatic  scorn :  "  why 
talk  to  me  of  dare?  I  dare  do  right,  if  I  have  done 
wrong ;  and  I  would  to  God  you  had  the  same  courage ! 
But  I  have  said  enough.  Go !  I  am  weak  and  ill.  Go ! 
your  presence  burdens  my  sight." 

"Promise  me  you  will  not  appear  against  ine,  and  I 
will  go,"  replied  Acton. 

"  I  will  not  promise.  On  that  point  I  am  resolved. 
You  have  run  too  long  a  guilty  course,  and  well  deserve 
some  punishment." 

"  Look  at  me !"  cried  Acton,  brandishing  his  dagger 
aloft.  "  Look  well !  I  am  a  desperate  man,  Ellen ;  and, 
if  goaded  too  far,  would  not  stop  short  of  a  nameless 
crime  !  Now  promise  me,  or " 

"Never!"  interrupted  Ellen.  "Acton  Atherton,  you 
are  a  coward ;  for  none  but  a  coward  would  steal  in  upon 
a  weak,  defenceless  woman,  and  with  the  air  and  language 
of  a  common  cut-throat,  seek  to  awe  her  into  silence,  or 
extort  from  her  a  promise  against  her  will.  Begone,  sir ! 
and  never  enter  my  presence  again !  With  the  fierceness 
of  a  tiger,  you  combine  the  courage  of  a  mouse  !  Begone, 
sir  !  or  I  will  call  for  aid." 

"It  shall  be  your  last  call  then  !"  cried  Acton,  foaming 
with  rage.  "  You  have  dared  and  maddened  me  beyond 
myself.  Take  that!" 

As  he  spoke,  he  spnaig  forward,  and,  scarcely  conscious 
of  \vliat  lie  did,  struck  a  fell  blow  with  his  dagger.  A 
groan  sounded  in  his  ear.  He  started  back,  all 


THE   DAMNING   DEED.  243 

aghast,  and  a  cry  of  horror  escaped  his  lips.  He  beheld 
the  white  linen  of  the  bed  red  with  blood  !  He  looked 
on  his  dagger,  and  saw  its  lustre  dimmed  with  blood! 
Upon  his  h|jid,  and  beheld  it  bloody  also !  It  was  the 
warm  life-m^c^of  her  who  had  so  loved  him,  and  who  had 
sacrificed  for  him  her  own  happiness !  He  turned  his 
eyes  upon  her  once  more,  and  saw  her  already  gasping  in 
the  death  struggle !  He  strove  to  call  her  by  name,  but 
he  could  not  speak.  He  strove  to  rush  to  her,  but  he 
could  not  move.  He  strove  to  shut  the  horrid  sight  from 
his  eyes,  but  they  were  rivetted  there — there,  upon  the 
bloody  work  of  his  own  hand  !  Oh  !  what  an  age  of  misery 
— of  woful  misery — of  hell  itself — was  in  that  awful 
moment.  Blood  upon  the  bed ;  blood  upon  his  dagger ; 
blood  upon  the  floor ;  blood  upon  his  hands ;  all — all  was 
blood  ! — an  ocean  of  blood  it  seemed  to  the  horror-stricken, 
fear-stricken,  conscience-stricken  Acton  Atherton. 

"  Great  God !"  burst  at  last  from  the  lips  of  the  mur- 
derer: "Great  God!  what  have  I  done!  "VVo,  misery, 
remorse,  and  hell  itself,  are  henceforth  mine  !" 

"I  forgive  you,"  said  a  feeble,  gurgling  voice,  the  last 
that  ever  passed  the  lips  of  the  poor,  ill-fated  Ellen  Doug- 
lass. 

"  No  !  no  !"  cried  Acton  wildly :  "  Not  forgive  !  Say 
you  curse  me! — curse  me  eternally — forever — for  this 
damnable  deed !" 

At  this  moment  there  came  a  loud  knock  at  the  outer 
door  of  the  house.  It  aroused  the  murderer  to  a  sense  of 
his  danger.  He  gave  one  hurried  glance  around,  and 
darted  into  the  other  apartment,  the  door  of  which  he 
unlocked  in  eager  haste.  From  this  there  was  a  hall  which 
led  to  a  window  overlooking  the  back  yard.  He  rushed  to 
this,  threw  it  up  frantically,  and,  all  reckless  of  conse- 
quences, leaped  out.  He  struck  the  ground  unharmed,  and 


244  THE   FORGED   WILL. 

the  next  moment  had  cleared  a  high  board  fence  and  was 
in  a  dark  alley.  He  paused  one  moment  to  decide  upon  his 
course.  In  that  moment  he  heard  an  awful  shriek — the 
first  that  told  his  crime  was  known.  With  a^npan,  wrung 
from  his  very  soul,  he  turned  and  fled :  fled^  frroi  his  crime, 
from  justice,  from  light :  fled  fast  and  far  into  the  darkness 
of  the  night :  fled  from  all  but  himself,  his  conscience  and 
his  God ! 


CHAPTER  XXL 

THE  INQUEST. 

IT  was  between  eight  and  nine  o'clock  in  the  evening, 
that  Edgar  and  Dudley,  arm-in-arm,  were  strolling  up 
Park  Row  towards  Chatham  street,  in  close  conversation. 

"  And  could  you  not  prevail  on  her?"  asked  Dudley,  in 
connection  with  something  that  had  gone  before. 

"  No,"  replied  Edgar.  "  She  said  she  could  not  bear 
the  thought  of  mingling  again  with  those,  who,  having  no 
stain  upon  their  characters,  would  withdraw  from  her  their 
countenance,  and  point  at  her  the  finger  of  scorn." 

"But  she  should  go  where  she  is  not  known." 

"  So  I  said  to  her,  but  to  no  effect — she  contending,  that 
to  feel  her  own  degradation  in  such  society,  would  be  more 
than  she  could  bear,  and  for  which  even  death  would  be  a 
glad  substitute." 

"  Poor  girl !  from  my  soul  I  pity  her.  Such  a  noble, 
generous  nature,  to  come  to  such  disgrace  and  degradation  ! 
What  should  be  done  with  the  villain  that  so  wrongs  a 
woman,  Edgar  ?" 

"  He  should  serve  out  the  remainder  of  his  days  between 
the  four  walls  of  a  prison." 

"  So  think  I ;  for  I  look  upon  it  as  one  of  the  worst  of 
crimes — one  of  the  grossest  outrages  of  which  a  man  can 
be  guilty.  And  yet  the  law,  Edgar,  laughs  to  scorn  our 
opinion,  and  holds  the  seducer  innocent.  Society,  too, 
gives  its  sanction  to  the  foul  deed ;  and  the  pampered  vil- 
lain goes  boldly  through  the  world,  in  a  gay,  dissolute 
21  (245) 


246  THE   FORGED  WILL. 

career,  strewing  his  path  with  blasted  names,  broken  hearts 
and  ruined  souls.  We  make  laws  for  the  poor,  Edgar — 
for  those,  who,  born  in  wretchedness,  without  hope  above 
their  birth,  can,  at  the  best,  but  eke  out  a  miserable  exis- 
tence. We  make  laws  for  them,  and  we  press  them  closely 
— execute  them  with  a  diligence,  eagerness  and  fidelity 
worthy  a  better  cause.  For  them  we  make  no  allowance — 
they  being  supposed  to  inherit  immaculate  virtue — from 
which  if  they  fall,  they  fall  as  Satan  did  from  Heaven, 
without  any  temptation  but  their  own  evil  passions.  Born 
in  degradation — schooled  in  vice  and  misery — debarred  all 
the  exalted  enjoyments  of  learning  and  knowledge — scorned, 
oppressed  and  down-trodden  by  those,  who,  clothed  in 
broadcloths  and  silks,  bow  their  souls  to  the  shrine  of  Mam- 
mom,  the  while  their  knees  press  the  richly  carpeted  floor 
of  God's  holy  church — they  are  still  supposed  to  know  all 
the  technicalities  of  the  law — to  be  above  all  the  vices  and 
errors  of  mankind — to  be,  in  short,  the  noble  instruments 
whereby  to  exhibit  the  majesty,  justice  and  righteousness 
of  man's  civil  code :  for  let  one  suffer  never  so  much,  the 
law  says  it  is  right ;  let  one  starve  himself,  and  see  his  poor 
family — his  dear  wife  and  little  ones  begging  and  dying  for 
the  bread  which  he  has  not  to  give — and  the  law  says  it  is 
right ;  but  let  him,  driven  to  desperation,  maddened  with 
famine  and  mental  anguish — let  him  take  so  much  as  a 
handful  of  meal  to  protect  his  life  and  the  lives  of  those 
dearer  to  him  than  his  own — and  then  the  majesty,  and 
justice,  and  righteousness  of  the  law  says  it  is  all  wrong ; 
that  it  is  a  heineous  crime  against  community ;  and  forthwith 
the  offender  is  seized,  and  dragged  to  prison,  tried,  convicted, 
and  sent  away,  a  condemned  criminal,  to  serve  out  his  term 
in  a  sink  of  hell's  own  vice ;  while  his  family  starve,  and 
die,  and  turn  to  dust,  for  the  proud,  the  arogant,  the  pam- 
pered, the  courted,  the  flattered,  the  almost  lordly  robber  of 


THE   INQUEST.  247 


female  virtue  to  trample  on  with  scorn !     Oh  most  truly 
is  there 

"  '  Something  rotten  in  Denmark.'  " 

"You  draw  a  strong  picture,"  replied  Edgar;  "and 
deeply  I  regret  I  cannot  gainsay  its  truthfulness.  But  the 
world  is  daily  progressing  to  a  better  state ;  and  though  we 
may  not  live  to  see  it,  the  time  will  surely  come,  when  man 
can  live  without  taking  what  is  not  his  own ;  and  when  the 
act,  we  both  so  heartily  condemn,  will  become  a  crime  in 
the  eyes  of  the  law,  with  a  penalty  attached  commensurate 
to  its  wickedness."* 

Conversing  thus,  the  two  friends  entered  Chatham  street ; 
and  continuing  their  course  till  they  came  to  Mott  street, 
they  turned  down  the  latter  to  visit  the  unfortunate  Ellen 
— Edgar  with  a  view  to  cancel  the  debt  he  owed  her ;  and 
also,  if  possible,  to  prevail  upon  her  to  leave  her  present 
abode  and  retire  forever  from  criminal  associations. 

"  What  wretchedness  exists  on  every  hand !"  said  the 
latter,  as  slowly  the  two  friends  pursued  their  way  along  the 
narrow,  squallid,  and  dimly  lighted  street.  "  And  yet," 
he  added,  with  a  sigh,  "  it  is  but  a  few  days  since  my  poor 
mother,  my  sister  and  myself  were  inhabitants  of  this 
gloomy  region." 

"Oh,  how  you  must  have  suffered!"  replied  Dudley, 
sympathetically.  "I  do  not  wonder  your  poor  mother 
died — I  only  wonder  you  and  your  sister  had  nerve  enough 
to  bear  up  against  so  dark  a  fate.  To  those  born  and  bred 
here — who  have  never  known  nor  ever  expect  any  thing 
better — it  is  a  paradise,  compared  to  the  misery  you  expe- 
rienced, from  its  contrast  to  those  days  when  almost 

*  Pennsylvania  has  already  come  out  boldly,  and  made  seduction  a 
criminal  offence,  punishable  with  heavy  fine,  and  imprisonment ;  and  it 
is  the  ardent  desire  of  the  humble  writer  of  these  pages,  to  see  every 
state  in  the  Union  fallow  her  noble  example. 


248  THE  FORGED  WILL. 

boundless  wealth  was  yours.  But,  thank  God  !  you  have 
met  with  a  happy  deliverance,  and  soon,  I  trust,  will  be 
able  to  resume  your  proper  station.  There  is  an  old  adage, 
that  '  bought  experience  is  the  best,  if  we  do  not  buy  it 
too  dear ;'  and  your  suffering  here,  may  be  of  advantage  to 
you  hereafter,  by  bringing  home  to  you  forcibly  the  neces- 
sities of  the  poor,  which  are  too  apt  to  be  overlooked  by 
the  wealthy.  "What  a  field  is  every  where  open  to  the 
opulent  philanthropist,  to  give  hope  to  the  forlorn  and 
happiness  to  the  wretched ;  and  how  much  more  noble  are 
his  labors  in  the  sight  of  God — how  much  more  exalted 
should  he  above  his  fellows — than  he  who  rides  the  hero  of 
an  ensanguined  field,  and  with  his  own  arm  carries  death 
before  him — makes  the  wife  a  widow,  the  child  an  orphan 
— and  leaves  mourning  and  lamentation  to  follow  in  his 
train  !  And  when  at  last  he  is  laid  upon  the  bed  of  death, 
and  feels  his  life  slowly  but  surely  ebbing  away — knows 
that  his  spirit  is  about  to  separate  from  its  mortal  tene- 
ment, and  take  its  flight  to  the  eternal  world,  bearing  with 
it  all  the  deeds,  good  and  ill,  it  has  done  in  the  body — • 
how  cheering  and  refreshing,  to  turn  his  eyes  back  upon  the 
past,  and  behold  the  path,  once  full  of  thorns,  that  he  has 
strewn  with  flowers,  and  think  that  the  blessings  and  pray- 
ers of  those  he  has  rescued  from  destruction,  will  precede 
him  to  the  Mercy  Seat  of  the  Most.  High  and  gain  him 
pardon  for  the  minor  errors  of  frail  humanity !  0,  if  the 
rich  did  but  know  wherein  lieth  their  true  happiness,  and 
would  but  give  heed  thereto,  thousands  upon  thousands 
would  be  daily  snatched  from  the  dark  haunts  of  misery, 
vice  and  crime,  and  sent  upon  their  way  rejoicing — the 
world  would  be  restored  to  its  pristine  happiness — and  the 
glorious  Millenium,  foretold  of  old,  and  for  which  all  good 
Christians  watch  and  pray,  would  truly  come  to  make  a 
second  Heaven  on  earth!" 


THE   INQUEST.  249 


"  You  arc  most  eloquent  in  a  good  cause,  friend  Dudley, 
and  I  heartily  concur  in  all  the  sentiments  you  have  ad- 
vanced ;  and  sincerely  trust  the  time  is  not  far  distant, 
when  the  philanthropist  shall  he  considered  the  true  hero 
— when  nations  shall  settle  their  disputes  by  arbitration 
instead  of  battle — when  the  poor,  oppressed,  and  down- 
trodden wretches  that  now  every  where  exist,  shall  no  lon- 
ger be  found,  but,  in  their  stead,  happy  and  intelligent 
beings — and  lastly,  when  the  warrior,  as  an  object  of  anti- 
quity, shall  excite  more  wonder  than  admiration.  But  see  ! 
we  have  reached  our  destination.  Yonder,"  added  Ed- 
gar, in  a  faltering  voice,  pointing  across  the  street  with  an 
unsteady  hand,  "  Yonder  it  was,  in  that  most  wretched 
hovel,  surrounded  with  the  dregs  of  misery,  my  poor  sainted 
mother  took  leave  of  all  she  held  dear  on  earth  !" 

As  he  spoke,  he  turned  away  to  hide  his  emotion,  and 
rapped  loudly  on  the  door  of  Madame  Costellan's  dwelling. 
Almost  immediately  after,  the  rattling  of  chains  and  bolts 
was  heard ;  and  the  door,  as  usual,  opened  but  slightly — 
sustained  in  its  position  by  a  short,  heavy  chain,  linking  it 
to  tne  casing,  that  the  person  within  might  have  an  oppor- 
tunity of  knowing  the  number  and  wants  of  those  without 
before  admitting  them — and  a  female  voice  inquired  who 
they  were ,  and  what  their  business.  Edgar  replied  by 
giving  his  name,  and  stating  that  he  had  called  with  a 
friend  to  see  Ellen  Douglass. 

"I  think  she's  got  company,"  was  the  rejoinder;  "but 
I'll  go  and  see  ;"  and  closing  the  door  behind  her,  the  two 
friends  heard  her  hasty  steps  along  the  hall. 

Scarcely  a  moment,  as  it  seemed  to  them,  elapsed  after 
this,  ere  they  heard  a  piercing  scream  from  the  room  above 
their  heads,  followed  immediately  by  another  and  another, 
more  wild  and  frightful  still,  and  then  by  the  noise  of  many 
feet,  as  of  others  rushing  to  ascertain  the  cause  of  alafm. 
21* 


250  THE  FORGED  WILL. 

"  Good  heavens  !"  exclaimed  Edgar ;  "what  can  be  the 
meaning  of  this  ?" 

"  Something  frightful,  I  fear,  has  happened,"  replied  his 
companion. 

Presently  the  two  friends  heard  an  agitated  rattling  of 
the  chains  and  holts  at  the  door,  and  then  it  swung  wide 
open,  and  the  same  female  who  had  first  given  Edgar  ad- 
mission, now  stood  before  them,  pale,  bewildered  and  ter- 
rified. 

"What  has  happened?"  cried  Edgar,  as  he  sprung 
within. 

"Oh  God!  sir,"  gasped  the  attendant,  with  a  look  of 
horror,  "  poor — poor  Ellen  Douglas  !" 

"  Well,  well— what  of  her  ?" 

"  She's  been  foully  murdered  !" 

"Murdered?"  fairly  shouted  Edgar.  "Murdered? 
Great  God  !  poor  Ellen  murdered  ?"  and  he  rushed  up 
stairs  in  frantic  haste,  followed  by  Dudley. 

As  they  reached  Ellen's  apartment,  they  encountered 
some  half-a-dozen  females,  (among  whom  was  Madame  Cos- 
tellan  herself,)  and  two  or  three  of  the  opposite  sex,  some 
half  frenzied,  and  all  looking  bewildered  and  terrified. 

"  Oh,  gentlemen,"  cried  Madame  Costellan,  rushing  up 
to  Edgar  and  Dudley — "such  a  terrible  thing  to  happen  in 
my  house !  Look  there,  for  Heaven's  sake  ! — oh,  look 
there  !"  and  she  pointed  towards  the  inner  chamber,  and 
hid  her  face  in  her  hands. 

Edgar  and  his  friend  sprung  forward,  and  soon  beheld 
what  froze  their  blood  and  sickened  them  with  horror. 
Upon  the  bed,  bathed  in  her  own  heart's  blood,  which  had 
run  down  the  snowy  sheets  and  puddled  on  the  floor,  re- 
posed the  earthly  remains  of  the  beautiful  Ellen — beautiful 
even  in  death — with  her  fair  hands,  all  stained  with  gore, 
crossed  on  her  bosom,  as  if  to  stanch  the  wound  in  her  left 


THE   INQUEST.  251 


breast,  and  her  features  calm  and  composed,  and  almost 
dazzling  white,  save  where  they  were  spotted  here  and  there 
with  the  red  current  of  life.  On  the  floor,  all  sanguine 
from  hilt  to  point,  lay  the  fatal  instrument  used  in  this 
hellish  work  ;  and  just  beyond  it  a  man's  cloak,  one  slight 
portion  of  which  was  dabbled  in  the  blood  of  the  owner's 
victim.  It  was,  all-in-all,  a  sight  to  pale  the  features  and 
move  the  heart  of  a  stoic,  and  make  the  sensitive  soul 
sicken,  shudder  and  recoil. 

"  Great  God  !"  ejaculated  Edgar,  shutting  the  horrid 
scene  from  his  sight  with  his  hands :  "  what  a  foul  mur- 
der !  Alas  !  poor,  erring,  but  noble-hearted  Ellen  Douglas 
— thy  earthly  misery  is  over  now !" 

"  Who  hath  done  this  damnable  deed  ?"  questioned  Dud- 
ley, turning  to  those  who  pressed  hard  behind  him.  "  Who 
was  with  the  unfortunate  deceased  when  this  happened  ?" 

"As  I  hope  for  mercy,  no  one  to  my  knowledge !"  cried 
Madame  Costellan,  in  wild  agitation.  "  Oh,  gentlemen,"  she 
continued,  greatly  alarmed  for  the  consequences  that  might 
ensue  to  herself  and  household  should  the  affair  become 
public,  and  appealing  to  each  and  all — "  for  Heaven's  sake  ! 
do  not  let  the  report  of  this  get  abroad,  or  I  shall  be 
ruined !" 

"  Peace,  woman  !"  rejoined  Dudley,  sternly.  "  You 
know  not  what  you  ask.  As  if  we  could  be  privy  to  a  foul 
murder,  and  suppress  the  tale  !  Where  is  she  who  gave  us 
admittance  ?"  he  continued,  in  a  tone  of  authority. 

"  Here — here — I — I — am,  sir,"  stammered  the  terrified 
domestic,  coming  forward. 

"  Who  was  here  with  poor  Ellen  Douglas  but  a  few 
minutes  since,  of  whom  you  spoke  when  we  inquired  for 
her?"  questioned  Dudley. 

"  Why— why — sir — I — I — "  stammered  the  woman, 
sinking  upon  her  knees  before  Dudley,  in  an  attitude  of 


252  THE   FORGED   WILL. 

entreaty,  as  if  she  fancied  he  had  the  power  to  pardon  or 
condemn  her :  "  I  say — 'pon  my  soul !  if  it's  the  last 
words  I've  got  to  utter — I — I — didn't  think  any  harm,  I 
didn't— I " 

"  Up,  woman,  and  answer  my  question,  or  you  will  be 
suspected  of  having  a  hand  in  the  murder  yourself!"  in- 
terrupted Dudley,  sharply. 

"Well,  sir — well,  sir — "  continued  the  other — "a  man 
came  to  the  door,  and  gave  me  this  gold  piece  to  let  him  in 
— and  say  nothing — and  I — I — did  it ;  but — but  without 
thinking  the  least  bit  of  harm — 'pon  my  soul !  if  it's  the 
last  word " 

"  Who  was  the  man  ?"  interrupted  Dudley  again. 

"  I  couldn't  see  his  face,  sir,  for  the  cloak  which  he  held 
round  it ;  but — but  by  his  eyes,  sir,  I  guessed  it — it — was 
Acton  Atherton." 

Both  Dudley  and  Edgar  uttered  exclamations  of  surprise 
together,  and  gave  each  other  a  look  expressive  of  more  of 
bewildered  belief  than  doubt. 

"  Great  Heaven !"  groaned  Edgar;  "  this  is  more  terrible 
still !" 

"  0,  you  daring  good-for-nothing  !"  cried  Madame  Cos- 
tellan,  now  rushing  forward  to  the  still  kneeling  domestic, 
and  dealing  her  a  blow  on  the  head  with  her  fist.  "  Out 
of  my  house,  and  get  you  gone  forever  !  Oh,  you  have  ru- 
ined me  !  you  have  ruined  me  !" 

"  Peace,  woman  !"  commanded  Dudley,  damping  his  foot 
on  the  floor.  And  then  to  the  domestic :  "  Stir  not  from 
here  for  your  life  !  You  shall  not  be  harmed.  Let  some 
one  hasten  and  summon  the  coroner  immediately." 

"I  will  go,"  said  Edgar,  darting  through  the  crowd, 
down  the  stairs  and  into  the  street,  the  door  to  which  had 
been  left  unfastened  by  the  agitated  and  frightened  servant. 

In  less  than  half  an  hour  Edgar  returned,  bringing  the 


THE  INQUEST.  253 


coroner  and  his  jury,  who  at  once  proceeded  to  hold  an  in- 
quest on  the  body  of  the  murdered"  Ellen  Douglas. 

It  is  unnecessary  for  us  to  enter  into  further  particulars. 
On  examination,  it  was  found  that  the  steel,  striking  upon 
one  of  her  left  ribs,  had  glanced  and  entered  the  heart  of 
poor  Ellen  in  an  oblique  direction,  thus  speedily  termi- 
nating her  existence.  Each  member  of  the  ill-fated  house 
was  then  closely  interrogated,  as  was  also  Edgar  and 
Dudley — but  from  none  save  the  domestic,  who  gave  her 
name  as  Sarah  Farling,  was  there  elicited  any  important 
evidence.  She  having  now  become  somewhat  calm,  being 
assured  by  the  coroner  no  harm  could  accrue  to  her,  told 
her  story  in  a  straight-forward  manner ;  and  mainly  from 
her  testimony,  the  jury,  after  a  short  consultation,  returned 
the  verdict : 

"  That  the  deceased  came  to  a  violent  death,  by  means 
of  a  wound  inflicted  by  a  dagger,  supposed  to  be  in  the 
hands  of  Acton  Atherton." 

Ordering  the  remains  of  Ellen  to  be  properly  laid  out 
and  prepared  for  interment,  and  securing  the  cloak  and 
dagger  for  further  evidence,  the  coroner,  after  an  exami- 
nation of  the  premises,  especially  where  the  open  window 
showed  the  murderer  had  made  his  escape,,  quitted  the 
house,  accompanied  by  the  jury,  Edgar  and  Dudley.  Pro- 
ceeding to  the  nearest  magistrate,  a  writ  was  sworn  out 
against  Acton  Atherton  and  placed  in  the  hands  of  an 
officer  for  his  apprehension ;  while  the  two  friends  bent 
their  steps  homeward,  with  what  feelings  we  leave  the 
reader  to  imagine. 


CHAPTER  XXII. 

<*• 

THE   GUILTY  IN  TROUBLE. 

IT  was  far  advanced  toward  midnight,  and  in  her  own 
handsomely  furnished  apartment,  with  a  book  in  her  hand, 
which  she  seemed  intently  perusing,  sat  Arabella  Atherton. 
The  lamp,  on  a  center-table  by  her  side,  was  already 
growing  dim,  and  barely  served  to  relieve  the  more  obscure 
portions  of  the  chamber  from  utter  darkness ;  but,  faint  as 
it  was,  its  pale  beams  seemed  to  gain  additional  strength 
as  they  fell  upon  the  white,  marble-like  countenance  of  the  ' 
haughty  beauty.  At  length  Arabella  paused  in  her 
reading,  let  her  book  fall  listlessly  in  her  lap,  and  resting 
her  elbow  on  the  table  and  her  forehead  in  the  hollow  of 
her  hand,  appeared  to  be  absorbed  in  deep  thought.  While 
thus  occupied,  she  heard  a  gentle  tap  on  the  door;  and 
supposing  it  to  be  her  waiting  maid,  she  said : 

"  Come  in !" 

Her  surprise  was  great,  therefore,  when,  instead  of  the 
person  she  expected,  her  brother  entered  and  hurriedly 
shut  the  door  behind  him.  There  was  something  frightful 
in  his  look  and  manner ;  for  his  features  had  assumed  a 
ghastly,  almost  livid  hue — his  lips  were  ashy  and  tremu- 
lous, though  compressed — his  eyes  strained,  bloodshot  and 
rolling — his  step  eager,  stealthy,  frightened  and  uncertain 
— his  voice  harsh,  sepulchral  and  fearful — as,  advancing 
toward  her,  he  glared  cautiously  but  wildly  around,  and 
seizing  her  arm  with  a  grip  that  drew  from  her  an  excla- 
mation of  pain,  said : 
(254) 


THE   INQUEST.  255 


"  You  are  alone,  sister  ?" 

"  To  be  sure  I  am,  Acton,"  she  replied,  starting  to  her 
feet  in  alarm.  "  In  Heaven's  name  !  what  has  happened, 
to  make  you  look  and  act  thus,  like  one  demented  ?" 

Acton  did  not  reply ;  but  he  gave  her  one  awful  look  of 
agony — such  an  expression  a,s  one  would  expect  to  behold 
on  the  faces  of  the  damned — and  then  staggering  to  a  seat, 
sunk  down,  buried  his  face  in  his  hands,  and  uttered  a 
groan  that  seemed  to  wrench  his  very  soul. 

"Great  God!  what  is  the  meaning  of  this?"  cried 
Arabella,  greatly  terrified.  "  Speak,  Acton ! — speak  !  and 
tell  me  what  has  happened?" 

"  The  earth  has  become  an  ocean  of  blood !"  groaned 
rather  than  spoke  her  brother,  with  his  face  still  hid  in  his 
hands. 

"  Speak  understandingly,  or  I  shall  doubt  your  sanity  !" 

"  Do !  do  !"  shouted  Acton,  starting  to  his  feet  suddenly, 
and  revealing  his  face,  now  awfully  distorted  and  haggard. 
"  Do  doubt  it,  Arabella  ! — say  I'm  mad ! — swear  I'm  mad  ! 
— for  I  am  mad — mad  as  the  maniacs  men  cage !  My 
brain — my  poor  brain  burns  with  fire  unquenchable — my 
eyes  see  blood — and  my  ears  ring  with  the  words  of  mortal 
forgiveness,  and  the  curses  of  a  conscience  whose  torments 
shall  be  forever  and  ever !" 

"Merciful  God!"  screamed  Arabella :  "his  reason  has 
deserted  him  truly !" 

And  seizing  the  cord  connecting  with  a  bell  in  her 
waiting-maid's  room,  she  was  about  to  ring,  when  Acton, 
springing  forward,  grasped  her  hand,  saying,  in  a  low, 
eager,  emphatic  tone : 

"  Call  no  one  here,  as  you  value  your  life !" 

"  What  means  this  strange  manner  of  yours  ?"  Arabella 
now  asked,  in  a  clear,  distinct,  unfaltering  tone,  fixing  her 


256  THE   FORGED   WILL. 

dark  eyes  steadily  upon  his,  in  the  way  she  had  understood 
maniacs  were  the  most  completely  subdued. 

"  It  means,"  he  groaned,  "  that  I  have  a  hell  in  my 
breast,  and  a  hell  in  my  brain  !" 

"  Speak  !  I  charge  you,  Acton ! — what  have  you  done  ? 
Ha  !  see  !"  she  added,  almost  wildly  ;  "  there  is  blood  upon 
your  hands  !  Oh !  Acton,  iny  brother — Acton,  my  brother 
— for  the  love  of  Heaven,  relieve  me  of  this  suspense,  and 
say  you  have  done  no  further  crime  !" 

"Where  do  you  see  blood?"  cried  Acton,  fiercely  looking- 
wildly  upon   his   hands,  which   he  turned  over   and  over, 
rubbing  each  hard  against  the  other.     "  Where  do  you  see 
blood,  Arabella  ?"  he  continued,  now  holding  them  out  for 
her  examination. 

"  I  do  not  see  it  now — it  is  gone,"  she  replied. 

"  Ha  !  ha  !"  he  laughed  hysterically  ;  "  it  is  gone,  is  it  ? — 
gone  from  your  eyes,  but  not  from  mine :  I  see  an  ocean 
of  it!" 

At  this  moment  the  street  bell  was  rung  violently, 
accompanied  by  a  heavy  rap  on  the  door.  Acton  heard  it, 
and  for  a  moment  stood  as  one  petrified  with  horror. 
Then  bounding  forward,  he  seized  both  the  hands  of  Ara- 
bella, pressed  them  hard,  and  cried  piteously : 

"  Save  me  !  save  me !  Quick  !  quick  !  dear  Arabella — • 
save  me  !  They  come  to  drag  me  to  prison !" 

"  You  are  guilty  of  some  foul  crime,  then  ?"  gasped  the 
other.  "  That  blood— that  blood " 

And  sick  with  horror,  she  could  utter  no  more,  but  sunk 
half  fainting,  upon  a  seat. 

"  Ha  !"  cried  Acton  ;  "  I  hear  voices.  They  are  coming ; 
they  inquire  for  me.  For  the  love  of  Heaven  and  eternal 
mercy,  tell  me  what  I  must  do,  Arabella!" 

The  latter  started  to  her  feet,  gave  her  brother  a  strange, 
peculiar  look,  in  which  shame,  horror,  fear,  pity,  pride  and 


THE   INQUEST.  257 


resolution  confusedly  mingled — the  two  last  being  the  last 
in  ascendancy — and  then  stamping  her  foot  to  make  her 
words  impressive,  exclaimed  firmly : 

"  Be  a  man  !  Seat  yourself— be  calm — and,  if  guilty, 
let  not  your  looks  betray  you  !  Sit  down ! — there  is  a 
book — read !" 

"  They  are  coming,"  faltered  Acton,  as  he  tremblingly 
complied  with  the  instructions  of  his  sister. 

Arabella  seated  herself  and  listened.  She  heard  steps 
upon  the  stairs,  and  confused  speaking.  Presently  she 
could  distinguish  her  father's  voice  in  what  seemed  angry 
expostulation. 

"  I  tell  you  this  is  uncivil  rudeness,  to  disturb  my  house 
at  this  time  of  night,  in  this  manner.  Acton  has,  I 
presume,  been  abed  and  asleep  these  two  hours." 

"We  must  do  our  duty,  nevertheless,"  was  the  reply ; 
"  and  the  sooner  we  find  him,  the  sooner  we  leave  you. 
Is  this  the  room  ?" 

"No  yonder — this  is  my  daughter's,"  replied  Atherton. 

"Go  you  to  that,  then,"  said  the  other,  apparently 
addressing  a  third  person.  "  I  see  a  light  here  and  will 
examine  this ;"  and  as  he  spoke,  there  came  a  loud  rap  on 
the  door. 

"  Be  calm !"  whispered  Arabella  to  her  terrified  and 
half-distracted  brother ;  and  rising,  she  walked  boldly  to 
the  door  and  threw  it  open. 

'  I  beg  pardon !"  said  the  officer,  as  he  met  the  calm, 
cold,  haughty  stare  of  Arabella ;  "  but  I  am  seeking  Acton 
Atherton." 

"  Yonder  he  sits,  sir,"  nodded  Arabella,  as  if  displeased 
at  so  unceremonious  an  interruption. 

"It  is  my  unpleasant  duty,"  said  the  officer,  advancing 
to  the  side  of  him  he  sought,  and  placing  a  hand  on  his 


258  THE  FORGED  WILL. 

shoulder,  which  fairly  quivered  at  the  touch,  "  to  arrest 
you  for  the  crime  of  murder!" 

"Murder !"  screamed  Arabella,  staggering  against  the 
wall,  no  longer  able  to  mask  her  feelings. 

"  Murder  !"  echoed  her  father,  clinging  for  support  to 
the  casing  of  the  door.  "  Oh  God !  can  this  be  so  ?"  he 
groaned.  "  Oh,  Acton,  why  do  you  not  contradict  it  ?  say 
it  is  not  true  ?" 

But  Acton  made  no  reply ;  and  the  other  officer  enter- 
ing at  this  moment,  the  two  bade  him  come  with  them,  as 
they  had  no  time  for  delay.  Acton  arose,  partly  reeled 
forward,  and  then  seeming  to  gather  new  courage,  passed 
out  of  the  room  without  speaking. 

As  soon  as  he  was  out  of  sight,  Atherton  moved  slowly 
forward  to  a  seat,  where  he  sunk  down  with  a  groan  of 
mental  anguish — a  groan  wrung  from  the  very  soul  of  one 
who  had  made  others  suffer  the  like  without  the  slightest 
compunctions  of  conscience.  And  oh !  what  terrible 
thoughts  were  now  passing  through  the  mind  of  this  dark 
man,  loaded  as  he  was  with  hidden  crime,  but  who  had  thus 
far  appeared  to  the  world  at  large  as  the  true  embodiment 
of  all  that  was  noble  and  virtuous !  And  what  schemes  of 
proud  ambition  did  he  feel  were  now  dashed  to  the  earth 
by  one  fell,  annihilating  blow !  His  son — in  whom  so 
much  of  the  pride,  ambition  and  fondness  of  even  a  merce- 
nary father  centered — to  be  dragged  to  prison,  from  his 
own  stately  roof,  and  there  tried  like  a  common  felon — 
perhaps  be  condemned  and  executed  for  a  heinous  crime, 
which  he  tacitly  acknowledged  by  not  openly  refuting ! 
And  then  the  disgrace — the  lasting  disgrace — that  would 
attach  to  even  himself,  as  the  father  of  a  murderer! 
Would  not  men  shun,  rather  than  court  his  company  ?  and, 
with  all  his  wealth  to  support  his  dignity,  point  him  out  as 
an  object  move  worthy  of  commisseration  tlian  emulation  ? 


THE   GUILTY  IN  TROUBLE.  259 

And  then  that  wealth — the  all  he  had  to  rely  on — that 
wealtlwtffo  basely  gained,  and  which,  by  having  supported 
his  son  in  a  dissolute  career  of  vice,  was  already  bringing 
upon  him  its  own  retribution ;  how  soon  might  that  be 
snatched  away  by  the  strong  arm  of  right  and  justice,  and 
he  himself  be  left  pennyless,  and  friendless,  to  his  own 
guilty  thoughts,  in  the  cell  of  the  criminal !  Fortune, 
so  ever  propitious  before,  now  seemed  to  frown  darkly,  and 
tell  him  his  outwardly  brilliant,  but  inwardly  dark  career, 
was  about  to  close  in  ignominy  !  In  his  pride  of  wealth 
and  position,  he  had  boasted  he  would  make  his  money  save 
him ;  but  now,  since  so  many  of  his  plans  had  failed — since 
those  he  hated  and  had  striven  to  crush  had  escaped  bis 
snares  and  were  soaring  above  him — now  he  felt  how  im- 
potent was  the  boast ;  and  that  so  far  from  saving,  his  ill- 
gotten  gains  might  prove  a  mill-stone  round  his  neck  t^ 
drag  him  down  the  dark  gulf  of  perdition  !  Oh,  harrowing 
to  the  soul,  and  black 'as  the  midnight  cells  of  Erebus,  were 
those  thoughts,  as  they  rapidly  chased  one  another  through 
his  heated  and  half-maddened  brain  ! 

And  well  mayest  thou  doubt,  and  tremble,  and  lose  con- 
fidence in  thine  own  dark  resources,  thou  vain,  proud, 
scheming  hypocrite  !  for  already  the  sharp  sword  of  Justice 
hangs  over  thy  guilty  head,  soon  to  fall  and  sever  the  last 
hope  that  supports  thee  ! 

For  some  minutes  Atherton  remained  buried  in  his  own 
reflections  ;  and  then  starting  suddenly  to  his  feet,  called 
Arabella.  But  all  unconscious  of  the  call,  or  even  of  her 
own  existence,  Arabella,  partly  resting  against  the  wall,  and 
partly  extended  on  the  floor,  lay  in  a  death-like  swoon. 

Alarmed  for  his  daughter,  Atherton  now  rung  the  bell 
and  shouted  for  his  domestics.  In  a  short  time  all  the  oc- 
cupants of  the  house  rushed  into  the  chamber,  their  faces 
the  picture  of  excitement  and  dismay ;  and  crowding  round 


200  THE   FORGED   WILL. 

the  sufferer  some  chafed  her  hands,  some  her  temples,  and 
some  applied  salts,  while  others  looked  on  bewild^d. 

Perceiving  signs  of  returning  animation,  Atherton  or- 
dered her  to  be  placed  in  bed,  to  have  the  family  physician 
sent  for  immediately,  and  all  to  withdraw  save  her  own 
waiting-maid.  At  length  Arabella  slowly  opened  her  eyes, 
and  giving  her  father  and  maid  a  stare  of  wonder,  suddenly 
raised  herself,  and  glancing  eagerly  round  the  apartment, 
in  a  low,  eager  voice  exclaimed: 

'Acton — my  brother — where  is  he  ?" 

"  He  has  just  stepped  out,"  replied  her  father,  making 
an  effort  to  appear  composed. 

Arabella  looked  at  him  steadily  a  moment,  with  the  ex- 
pression of  one  endeavoring  to  recall  something  that  has 
slipped  the  memory.  Then  her  features  gradually  assumed 
h  look  of  heart-touching  anguish  ;  and  placing  her  hands 
to  her  throbbing  temples,  she  slowly  fell  back  on  the  pil- 
low, and  murmuring,  "  Oh,  my  God!  my  God  !"  sunk  into 
a  state  of  apathy  bordering  on  unconsciousness. 

When  the  physician  came  and  examined  her,  he  shook 
his  head  dubiously,  and,  to  the  anxious  inquiries  of  her 
father,  replied  that  hers  was  a  case  beyond  the  science  of 
medicine,  and  that  he  could  only  recommend  the  most  care- 
ful nursing  and  the  avoidance  of  all  topics  of  an  exciting 
nature. 

"  Her  reason,"  he  concluded,  "  totters  on  its  throne,  and 
quiet,  for  a  few  days,  will  either  restore  her  or  make  her  a 
confirmed  maniac." 

On  hearing  these  words,  Atherton,  without  trusting  his 
voice  in  reply,  rushed  almost  frantically  to  his  own  apart- 
ment, and  locking  the  door  against  all  intrusion,  he  there 
passed  an  hour  of  such  agonizing  wretchedness,  as  might, 
in  some  measure,  atone  for  his  guilty  career. 


CHAPTER  XXIII. 

THE  MURDERER  AND  THE  MURDERED. 

NEWS  of  the  horrid  murder  of  poor  Ellen  Douglas,  and 
the  arrest  of  Acton  Atherton  for  the  crime,  flew  like  wild- 
fire over  the  city,  and  created  the  wildest  excitement  and 
consternation — insomuch,  that  citizens   of  all  professions 
left  their  business,  and  collected  in  groups  at  the  corners 
of  the  streets,  on  the  pleasure  grounds,  and  in  all  public     . 
places,  to  talk  the  affair  over  in  low,  eager,  mysterious 
tones,  express  their  own  opinions,  and  listen  to  comments*^ 
from  others.     To  fan  the  flame  of  popular  excitement  and1'' 
put  money  in  their  own  pockets,  several  of  the  daily  jour- 
nals issuetl  extras,  setting  forth  the  affair  in  the  wildest 
shape  of  exaggerated  romance,  and  giving  a  minute  and 
sickening  detail  of  how  they  supposed  the  horrid  deed  had , 
been  perpetrated;    and  though   each    differed  essentially 
from  every  other,  yet  all  were  received  and  swallowed  with, 
eager  credulity  by  an  excited  populace,  ready  to  gulp  down 
any  thing  that  would  strain  their  wonder   and  feed  their 
morbid  passions. 

And  even  had  the  press  been  silent,  there  was  enough 
of  the  wild,  startling  and  romantic  in  the  affair,  as  it  flew 
from  ear  to  ear,  and  put  the  city  in  unusual  commotion. 
In  the  first  place,  the  father  of  the  murderer,  as  a  princely 
millionaire,  was  generally  known  by  reputation,  if  not  per- 
sonally ;  and  the  murderer  himself  had  moved  a  bright 
particular  star  in  the  highest  circles  of  aristocracy  and 
fashion.  Connected  with  this,  the  story  at  once  got  abroad 
22*  (261) 


202  THE  FORGED   WILL. 

of  how  he  had  treacherously  seduced  poor  Ellen,  (who  was 
now  represented  as  all  that  was  once  lovely,  pure,amiable 
and  high-minded,)  by  a  sham  marriage  ;  and  thaWreing  on 
the  point  of  alliance  with  one  of  the  oldest,  most  respecta- 
ble and  opulent  families  in  the  city,  and  fearful  of  exposure, 
he  had  sought  to  hide  his  disgrace  with  the  most  heinous 
and  damning  of  crimes.  This  the  reader  knows  was  not 
strictly  correct — as  Acton  was  aware  the  exposure  he  so 
much  dreaded  had  taken  place — but  of  this  the  mass  was 
ignorant,  and  consequently  surmised  as  nearly  correct  as 
the  public  generally  does  in  such  cases.  From  the  major- 
ity of  the  citizens,  or  those  inferior  to  him  in  point  of 
wealth,  Acton  was  destined  to  receive  no  sympathy — but, 
on  the  contrary,  their  most  bitter  curses ;  and  so  excited 
were  the  vindictive  passions  of  the  lower  orders,  that  but 
r  a  doubly  strong  and  well-armed  police,  they  would 
:ive  mobbed  the  Tombs,  broken  into  his  cell,  and  dragged 
him  forth,  a  victim  to  their  wild  fury.  As  it  was,  not  only 
Centre  street,  but  all  the  avenues  leading  to  the  Tombs, 
were  blocked  up  at  an  early  hour  in  the  morning,  by  a  fu- 
rious multitude,  eager  to  be  present  at  his  examination,  or 
pun  the  first  intelligence  of  what  was  taking  place.  Even 
the  house  of  Madame  Costellan  was  surrounded  by  a  dense 
mob,  of  both  sexes,  all  ages  and  colors — drawn  thither  by 
that  same  vile  curiosity  which  leads  persons  to  witness  an 
execution — and  in  consequence,  a  strong  body  of  police  was 
required  to  be  in  constant  attendance  throughout  the  day, 
to  protect  the  premises  and  guard  the  body  of  the  deceased. 
It  is  not  our  intention  to  give  a  detail  of  either  the 
examination  or  trial  of  Acton  Atherton,  as  our  space  is 
limited,  and  other  matters,  more  important  to  our  purpose, 
must  be  brought  forward  ere  we  close.  Let  it  suffice,  then, 
that  the  former  occupied  two  sittings  of  the  magistrate, 
and  that  a  large  array  of  witnesses  were  summoned  before 


THE  MURDERER  AND  THE  MURDERED.    263 

the  court,  whose  evidence,  collectively,  was  sufficient  to 
cause  the  prisoner  to  be  indicted  for  willful  murder.  The 
Grand  Jury,  too,  returned  a  true  bill ;  and  his  not  being  a 
bailable  case,  Acton  was  remanded  to  prison,  to  take  his 
trial  at  the  spring  term  of  the  court  of  Oyer  and  Terminer. 

During  the  prisoner's  examination,  his  half  distracted 
father  was  present,  and  exerted  his  wealthy  influence  to 
the  utmost  to  get  him  clear ;  but  this  was  a  case  of  too 
strong  circumstantial  evidence  for  his  purpose ;  and  he  was 
forced  to  retire  from  the  field — which  he  did,  cursing  his 
own  natal  hour  and  the  impotence  of  his  ill-gotten  gains. 
It  was  the  last  desperate  struggle  in  his  wicked  career, 
made  on  the  very  verge  of  his  own  terrible  overthrow  and 
ruin,  of  which  more  anon. 

Meantime,  Edgar  and  his  friends  came  forward  and 
offered  their  services  to  consign  to  dust  the  mortal  remains 
of  the  poor,  ill-fated  Ellen  Douglas.  Permission  being 
granted  by  the  authorities,  they  set  about  their  mournful 
task  ;  but  so  great  was  the  excitement,  ami  the  desire, 
excited  by  curiosity,  of  hundreds  of  strangers  to  be  pre- 
sent, that  the  police  Vere  forced  to  interfere,  and  it  was 
judged  advisable  to  bury  her  in  the  night — which  was 
finally  done — Edgar  and  Virginia  accompanying  the 
deceased  as  chief  mourners,  and  dropping  a  tear  upon*  her 
humble  grave,  at  the  recollection  of  her  many  kindnesses 
to  them  and  the  thought  of  her  awful  and  untimely  fate.  • 

It  was  a  solemn  scene,  to  stand,  with  flaming  torches,  ia 
the  dead  hours  of  night,  around  the  open  grave  of  this 
child  of  sorrow,  cut  down  in  the  bloom  of  life,  and  behold 
her  coffin  lowered  into  the  cold,  damp  earth,  with  which  its 
frail  tenant  soon  must  mingle,  dust  to  dust,  to  come  forth 
never  more  till  the  sound  of  the  Last  Trump  should  sum- 
mon it  to  another  life  and  final  judgment ;  and  remember, 
withal,  that  she,  erewlnlc,  was  as  pure,  and  lovely,  and 


264  THE   FORGED   WILL. 

happy  as  any  present ;  and,  but  for  one  fatal  error,  less 
her  fault,  perhaps,  than  her  misfortune,  might  even  now  be 
exulting  in  life,  and  pride,  and  hope,  and  joy — the  admired 
and  loved,  extolled  and  honored  of  a  wide  and  brilliant 
circle  of  light-hearted  friends.  It  was  a  sad  and  dismal 
scene,  and  one  calculated  to  impress  itself  on  the  beholder 
so  deeply,  that  time,  with  all  its  events  and  changing  cir- 
cumstances, might  never  be  able  to  erase  it  from  the 
mind. 

"Alas!"  sighed  Morton,  as,  with  his  wife  on  one  hand 
and  his  daughter  on  the  other,  he  stood  on  the  verge  of 
Ellen's  last  earthly  home,  and  heard  the  hollow  sound  of 
the  earth  rattling  on  her  coffin  :  "Alas  !  what  a  creature  is 
man  ! — here  to-day  and  gone  to-morrow — now  in  the  joy, 
pride  and  exultation  of  happy  life — now  in  the  cold,  dark 
embrace  of  death,  with  weeping  friends  around,  taking  the 
last  parting  look  of  all  that  was  once  so  dear  to  them. 
How  wise  is  the  Great  Infinite,  in  shutting  from  us  all 
knowledge  of  the  future,  that  we  may  the  better  live  and 
enjoy  the  present — or,  with  the  shining  shield  of  hope  for 
our  defence,  do  battle  bravely  against  the  *  ills  we  have.' 
Poor  Ellen!— poor,  ill-fated,  untimely  Ellen  Douglas! — 
child  of  misfortune,  '  more  sinned  against  than  sinning' — 
little  could  she  dream,  in  the  flowery  days  of  happy  youth, 
that  her  first  years  of  blooming  maturity  would  find  her 
thus  !  Oh  !  what  a  powerful  and  painful  lesson,  to  guard 
us  all,  my  friends,  against  the  first  fatal  step  from  virtue 
and  honor !  She  is  gone,  and  thus  we  bury  her  forever 
from  our  sight,  trusting  in  God's  mercy  she  finds  that  hap- 
piness beyond  the  grave  which  sinful  earth  denied  her. 
God  help  us  all ! — we  know  not  whose  turn  it  next  may  be 
to  follow  her  !  Let  us  go  ;"  and  slowly  the  small  proces- 
sion moved  away  and  silently  departed  to  their  several 
homes 


CHAPTER  XXIV. 

HYPOCRISY  AND   CRIME. 

IT  was  the  fourth  day  from  the  arrest  of  his  son  for  his 
last  great  crime,  that  Oliver  Atherton  sat  beside  the  bed 
of  his  daughter,  holding  one  of  her  hands  in  his,  aiyl  gaz- 
ing upon  her  features — now  white  as  the  driven  snow,  but 
seemingly  composed — his  own  countenance  haggard,  and 
pale,  and  full  of  sorrow  and  anguish. 

"And  how  do  you  feel  to-day,  my  child?"  he  asked, 
with  a  tenderness  hitherto  foreign  to  his  nature. 

"  Better,  I  thank  you,  father,"  was  the  low,  calm  reply. 

"  I  am  rejoiced  to  hear  it,  Arabella ;  for  since  Acton  is 
gone,  you  are  my  only  solace." 

"  0,  I  am  so  happy  to  know  he  came  off  clear  of  the  foul 
charge ;  for  I  was  fearful  he  had  been  led,-  in  the  heat  of 
passion,  to  do  some  rash  act ;  and  when  the  officer  came  to 
arrest  him,  I  thought  my  brain  would  consume  and  fly 
from  me,  it  felt  so  heated  and  light.  But  where  think  you 
he  has  gone,  father  ?" 

"  I  do  not  know,"  replied  the  other,  turning  away  his 
head  to  conceal  his  emotion — not  so  much  for  the  deception 
he  was  practising,  as  for  the  deep  regret  that  the  story  he. 
had  told  his  daughter  could  not  be  verified  and  Acton  be 
at  liberty. 

"But  he  will  come  back  soon,  father?" 

,"  I  trust  so,  Arabella ;  though  the  excitement  is  still  so 
great,  on  the  account  of  even  suspicion  attaching  itself  to 

265 


266  THE   FORGED   WILL. 

him,  that  for  the  present  perhaps  he  had  better  remain 
away." 

At  this  moment  the  negro  Jeff  entered  the  room,  and 
handed  Atherton  a  card. 

"  Where  is  he  ?"  asked  the  latter,  as  he  glanced  at  the 
name. 

"In  de  parlor,  Massa." 

"  I  will  be  down  directly.  Or  stay — perhaps  I  had  bet- 
ter invite  him  up  here.  It  is  our  clergyman,  Arabella — 
the  Rev.  Stephen  Parkhurst." 

"  Show  him  up,"  answered  Arabella — "  I  shall  be  pleased 
to  see  him." 

"  I  will  do  it  myself,"  said  Atherton  to  the  negro ;  and 
he  arose  and  left  the  room. 

In  a  -few  minutes  he  returned,  in  company  with  the  rev- 
erend gentleman,  a  man  of  middle  age,  with  gray  hair, 
and  a  countenance  somewhat  remarkable  for  its  placidity, 
and  a  sweet,  benevolent  smile  which  lingered  over  it.  His 
appearance  was  very  prepossessing,  for  his  every  look 
showed  you  he  was  at  heart  what  he  openly  professed  to  be, 
a  true  Christian.  He  greeted  Arabella  warmly  and  kindly, 
and  immediately  entered  into  a  conversation  with  her,  which 
'lasted  some  quarter  of  an  hour,  during  which  he  gently 
urged  upon  her  the  importance  of  her  putting  her  trust  in 
One  who  was  able  to  support  her  through  every'  and  all 
trials  that  she  might,  in  the  course  of  human  events,  be 
called  upon  to  undergo. 

"When  most  sorely  afflicted,"  he  said,  in  conclusion, 
"  we  should  remember  we  are  chastened  by  the  hand  of 
God  for  some  wise  purpose  ;  and  instead  of  weakening  by 
doubt,  we  should  rather  strengthen  our  reliance  by  faith, 
that  all  is  done  for  the  best ;  and  that  He,  in  His  mercy, 
will  either  safely  deliver  us  from  adversity  in  this  life,  or, 
what  is  of  still  more  importance,  bear  us  safely  over  the 


HYPOCRISY  AND  CRIME.  267 

dark  '  valley  of  the  shadow  of  death.'  It  is  in  our  hours 
of  trouble,  when  every  thing  seems  conspiring  to  crush  us, 
that  we  most  feel  the  need  of  Divine  aid ;  and  I  trust,  my 
daughter,  whatever  may  be  your  afflictions — and  God  only 
knoweth  what  they  will  be — you  will  rely  solely  upon  Him, 
and  come  out  in  the  end  purified  and  sanctified,  so  as  by 
fire,  and  fitted  for  that  glorious  Mansion  beyond  the  shores 
of  time,  which  he  has  prepared  for  all  who  love  Him  and 
keep  His  commandments." 

Saying  this,  Mr.  Parkhurst  turned  to  the  father  of  Ara- 
bella, and  drawing  him  aside,  said,  in  a  tone  too  low  to 
reach  the  ears  of  the  invalid  : 

"  My  dear  brother,  I  grieve  to  see  you  so  sorely  dis- 
tressed. It  is  a  terrible  thing  to  have  a  beloved  son,  in 
whom  the  hopes  of  a  fond  father's  heart  are  centered, 
arraigned  at  the  solemn  bar  of  man  for  a  crime  that  makes 
humanity  shudder;  and  deeply,  from  my  very  heart,  do  I 
sympathise  with  you  in  your  awful  affliction.  But  God 
alone,  my  brother,  knoweth  what  is  best;  and  I  humbly 
pray  He  will  send  you  Christian  fortitude  sufficient  to 
carry  you  through  all  your  terrible  trials  !" 

The  scheming  man  of  wealth  groaned. 

"  It  is  very  hard  to  bear  up,  my  dear  brother,"  pursued 
the  divine,  in  a  consoling  tone,  "  when  we  see  those  we 
love  snatched  away  from  us  by  some  fortuitous  circum- 
stance ;  but  I  humbly  trust,  in  this,  your  trying  hour,  you  will 
bring  religion  to  your  aid,  and  endeavor,  through  much 
prayer,  to  become  reconciled  to  God's  wise  dispensation." 

Again  the  hypocrite  groaned;   and  after  looking  upon 

him  compassionately,  a  moment,  the  other  went  on. 

,        "  But  with  you,  my  brother,  it  is  different  from  those  of 

\  the   world,  who  -have,  in   similar  afflictions,  no  hope   to 

depend  on.     You,  I  trust,  are  a  Christian,  and  have  the 

holy  courage  of   those  who   passed   through   martyrdom 


268  THE    FORGED   WILL. 

unflinching.      You   have   professed   the   holy  religion  of 
Jesus  Christ — " 

"  No  more — no  more  !"  interrupted  Atherton  with  a 
groan,  and  a  shudder  that  shook  his  whole  frame ;  and 
covering  his  face  with  his  hands,  he  kept  it  some  moments 
concealed  from  the  other. 

How  did  his  hypocrisy  stand  him  now  ?  Where  was  the 
Christian  resignation  he  had  openly  professed  ?  Where  the 
Christian  hope  on  which  he  should  have  been  relying? 
How  stood  his  conscience  in  this  trying  moment  ?  Was  it 
perfectly  at  ease — or  did  he  feel  its  remorseful  stings  ? 

But  Oliver  Atherton  was  not  yet  changed  at  heart.  His 
fears  of  the  storm  already  gathered  over  him,  and  about  to 
burst  in  fury,  alone  made  him  quail.  Dissimulation  was  in 
his  nature  yet.  It  was  his  evil  genius,  which  ever  stood 
ready  to  prompt  him  wrongly.  And  it  came  to  his  aid 
now ;  for  withdrawing  his  hands,  he  continued,  meekly  : 

"My  dear  brother  Parkhurst,  what  you  have  said  is 
true.  There  is  consolation  for  those  who  have  proper  faith 
in  Divine  mercy ;  but,  at  the  same  time,  I  must  own, 
perforce,  I  am  '  of  the  earth  earthy/  and  in  my  worldly 
moments  have  doubtless  committed  many  errors,  for  which 
I  must  atone  by  sincere  repentance.  Still  I  will  endeavor 
not  to  despair  in  this  trying  hour ;  but  rely  upon  the  mercy 
of  Him  whom  I  have  openly  professed  to  serve ;  and  trust, 
as  you  say,  that  I  am  chastened  for  a  wise  purpose." 

"  We  all  have  our  errors,"  returned  the  other,  "  and 
must  needs  have  our  moments  of  repentance ;  but  it  truly 
rejoices  my  soul  to  see  you  bear  up  with  so  much  Christian 
courage." 

He  was  on  the  point  of  proceeding  further ;  but  the 
opening  of  the  door,  and  the  entrance  of  the  negro  in 
haste,  with  an  anxious  look  on  his  countenance,  interrupted 
him.  Advancing  at  once  to  Atherton,  the  black  whispered 


HYPOCRISY  AND  CRIME.  269 

a  few  words  in  his  ear.  The  other  started,  and  turned 
deadly  pale.  Then  rising  from  his  seat,  in  some  trepi- 
dation, he  asked  to  be  excused  a  few  moments,  and  quitted 
the  room,  followed  by  the  black.  Some  five  or  ten  minutes 
elupsed,  when  the  negro  returned  and  whispered  in  the  ear 
of  the  divine ;  who  immediately  arose,  and  saying  to  Ara- 
bella he  would  presently  return,  followed  the  messenger 
down  stairs.  In  the  parlor  he  found  the  host,  pacing  to 
and  fro,  with  anxious  looks  and  a  trembling  step ;  while  at 
a  little  distance  were  seated  tw^o  coarsely  habited  indivi- 
duals, who  seemed  carelessly  surveying  the  gorgeous  furni- 
ture of  the  apartment  and  the  splendid  paintings  adorning 
the  walls. 

"  My  dear  brother,"  spoke  Atherton,  in  an  agitated 
voice,  drawing  the  clergyman  aside,  "  misfortune,  it  seems, 
never  comes  alone.  I  am  in  trouble.  By  what  mistake, 
or  by  what  foul  means,  I  know  not,  "but  I  now  stand 
arrested  for  the  startling  crime  of  forgery,  and  must  per- 
force away  at  once  and  answer  to  the  calumnious  charge." 

"  For  forgery,  say  you,  my  dear  brother  ?"  exclaimed 
the  other,  in  astonishment. 

"Even  so." 

"  But  you  are  innocapt  ?" 

"As  you  are,  my  worthy  friend.  I  do  not  understand 
it.  It  is,  probably,  some  base  conspiracy  of  my  enemies, 
if  I  have  any — which  I  am  not  aware  of — to  seize  me  at  a 
time  when  public  opinion,  on  account  of  this  dreadful  affair 
of  my  son,  is  ready  to  go  against  me ;  and  so  blast  my 
reputation,  and  crush  me,  if  not  with  proof,  at'  least  with 
vile  suspicion,  which  is  but  little  better.  But  I  am  inno- 
cent, and  shall  in  the  end  come  out  .triumphant — though, 
as  I  said  before,  I  must  away  now  and  answer  to  the 
charge.  Oh  God  !"  he  groaned,  "  what  is  to  come  next  ?" 
.  "This  is  very  unfortunate,"  replied  the  clergyman, 
23 


270  THE  FORGED  WILL. 

looking  hard  at  the  other,  "  and  very  mysterious.  I  am 
all  bewilderment.  What  is  the  world  coming  to,  surely, 
when  man  arrests  and  drags  to  prison  his  fellow  man  for  a 
crime  of  which  he  is  innocent !  But  fear  not,  my  brother ! 
Rely  upon  the  strong  arm  of  Jehovah,  and  you  shall  have 
justice  done  you." 

The  hypocrite  groaned  again — perhaps  at  the  thought 
that  the  last  words  of  the  other  might  be  verified,  and  that 
he  would  have  justice  done  him,  which  at  present  was  what 
he  most  feared. 

"  Come,"  spoke  up  one  of  the  officers,  "  we  can't  delay 
any  longer." 

"A  moment,"  rejoined  Atherton ;  and  then  turning  to 
Mr.  Parkhurst,  he  continued :  "  But  poor  Arabella  ! — the 
news  of  this  would  kill  her.  You  must  not  let  her  know 
the  real  state  of  the  case,  till  it  becomes  unavoidable ;  but 
tell  her  I  have  been  called  away  on  a  matter  of  great 
moment,  and  you  know  not  how  soon  I  may  return.  This 
you  can  do,  without  making  a  false  statement,  which  of 
course  I  do  not  require  nor  expect.  All  knowledge  of 
Acton  must  be  kept  from  her,  till  she  is  fully  recovered ; 
and,  most  important  of  all,  my  dear  friend  and  brother, 
(and  Atherton  grasped  the  clergyman's  hand,  looked 
earnestly  and  pleadingly  into  his  eyes,  while  his  voice 
became  low,  and  tremulous,  and  very  pathetic,)  whatever 
may  happen — and  Heaven  only  knows  what  will — should, 
in  fact,  my  enemies  triumph,  and  I  not  be  able  to  return — 
you  will  be  kind  to  my  daughter  ? — you  will  see  that  she 
do'es  not  suffer  ? — in  a  word,  you  will  be  a  father  to  her, 
my  brother  ?" 

"  I  wSJ^'^  replied  the  other,  solemnly,  while  tears  of 
sympathy  started  to  his  eyes  :  "  I  will.  But,  surely,  you 
do  not  apprehend —  " 

"  Say  no  more  !"  interrupted  Atherton,  in   an  agony  of 


HYPOCRISY  AND  CRIME.  271 

mind  that  drew  cold  drops  of  perspiration  to  his  forehead. 
"  Say  no  more  !  Be  kind  to  Arabella !  God  bless  you ! 
Farewell !"  and  giving  the  clergyman  another  hearty  grip 
of  the  hand,  he  turned  abruptly  away,  and  signified  to  the 
officers  he  was  ready  to  depart. 

With  a  firm  step,  and  a  countenance  now  composed  and 
serene — though  within  the  passion-fires  were  wildly  con- 
suming and  ready  to  explode,  like  those  in  the  bowels  of 
the  earth  just  prior  to  a  terrible  eruption — Atherton 
calmly  led  the  way  to  a  carriage  in  waiting,  which  he 
entered  with  the  officers,  and  was  driven  away,  to  take  his 
preliminary  trial  before  a  magistrate  for  one  of  the  boldest 
and  most  ingeniously  executed  forgeries  on  record. 


CHAPTER  XXV. 

THE  FORGERY. 

WHEN  Oliver  Atherton  appeared  before  Alderman  Croly 
and  beheld  the  parties  present,  he  became  so  violently 
agitated  that  it  was  only  by  a  great  effort  he  prevented 
himself  from  sinking  to  the  ground.  What  he  saw  at  a 
glance,  told  him  tdo  well  that  his  long  guilty  career  had  now 
come  to  a  frightful  terminus.  Before  him,  apparently 
awaiting  his  arrival  to  complete  their  triumph,  stood 
Morton,  and  Dudley,  and  Edgar,  and,  most  dreaded  of  all, 
Avith  a  sardonic  grin  on  his  ugly  features,  his  own  vile 
tool,  the  treacherous  Nathan  Wesley. 

To  understand  the  nefarious  scheme  of  which  Atherton 
was  the  author,  it  will  be  necessary  for  us  to  give  in  sub- 
stance Wesley's  testimony.  Being  put  under  oath,  with 
the  understanding  that  he  was  to  be  considered  as  state's 
evidence,  and  consequently  exonerated  in  the  eyes  of  the 
law  for  his  own  part  in  the  dark  Ijfansaction,  he  told  his 
story  in  such  a  bold,  unhesitating,  straight-forward  manner, 
that  all  present  felt  convinced,  no  matter  what  had  been 
the  tenor  of  his  life  heretofore,  he  now  at  least  spoke  the 
truth. 

He  began  by  stating  that  some  five  years  previous, 
mentioning  the  exact  date,  the  accused  had  found  him  at 
a  time  when,  driven  nearly  to  desperation  by  poverty,  he 
was  ripe  for  almost  any  scheme  that  would  put  money  in 
his  empty  pockets;  and  had  commenced  by  asking  him 
what  he  would  do  to  be  rich,  and  ended  by  unfolding  to 
'272) 


THE   FORGERY.  273 


him  a  dark  plot,  and  offering  him  a  fortune  if  he  would 
venture  to  become  one  of  the  principal  actors  therein. 
This  plot  was  no  other  than  forging  or  altering  a  will  of 
the  defendant's  brother-in  law,  Ethan  Courtly,  who  was 
about  to  set  sail  for  Europe,  from  whence  ifc  was  his  (Ather- 
ton's)  intention  he  should  never  return  alive.  The  will,  in 
the  first  place,  was  to  be  drawn  up  in  due  form  by  a 
lawyer;  and  then,  to  prevent  the  possibility  of  detection, 
was  to  be  copied  entire  by  Wesley,  and  the  copy  be  pre- 
sented to  the  principal  and  witnesses  for  signing.  This 
was  accordingly  done ;  when  Atherton,  taking  possession 
of  it,  for  the  purpose,  as  he  said,  of  having  it  recorded, 
passed  it  over  to  Wesley  for  alteration.  This  alteration 
consisted  in  extracting,  by  means  of  a  chemical  process, 
such  portions  of  the  will  as  bestowed  the  bulk  of  the  pro- 
perty upon  the  wife  and  heirs  of  the  deceased,  and  supply- 
ing the  place  thereof  with  such  language  as  would  make 
Atherton  the  principal  inheritor. 

This  being  effected  in  a  manner  almost  certain  to  escape 
detection — from  the  fact  of  the  hand-writing  of  both  the 
alteration  and  original  being  the  same — Atherton,  the 
better  to  blind  all  parties,  had  the  boldness  to  have  the 
forgery  recorded  the  day  previous  to  the  embarkation  of 
Ethan  Courtly.  Of  this  vile  transaction,  Wesley  stated, 
in  conclusion,  there  was  only  one  other  who  had  any  know- 
ledge. This  was  the  lawyer  who  drew  up  the.  original 
will,  and  who,  having  by  chance  overheard  a  private  con- 
ference between  the  witness  and  the  accused,  and  being 
discovered  ere  the  important  secret  had  escaped  his  pos- 
session, soon  after  mysteriously  disappeared. 

"  In  other  words  he  was  murdered,  I  suppose  ?"  said 
the  counsel  for  defence. 

Wesley  shuddered  and  turned  pale  as  he  replied : 

"I  didn't  say  that." 

23* 


274    "  THE  FORGED  WILL. 

"No,  but  your  language  implied  as  much." 

"  So  please  your  Honor,  and  you  gentlemen,"  said 
Atherton,  with  a  gleam  of  malice  on  his  countenance,  "  I 
do  here  holdly  accuse  Nathan  Wesley  of  committing  most 
foul  murder,  and  beg  you  will  have  him  arrested  forth- 
with." 

"•One  case  at  a  time,"  replied  the  magistrate. 

"  As  matters  are,  I  demand  that  my  client  be  liberated 
at  once !"  rejoined  the  lawyer.  "  Surely  your  Honor 
cannot  think  of  detaining  him  on  the  flimsy  evidence  of  a 
witness  who  has  already  owned  to  the  commission  of  a 
capital  offence?" 

"it's  a  lie!"  cried  Wesley,  much  excited.  "  I  haven't 
owned  to  any  such  thing;  and  I'll  be if  I  do,  either !" 

"Silence,  sir !"  exclaimed  the  magistrate;  "and  when 
you  speak  again,  make  use  of  more  respectful  language,  or 
I  will  have  you  imprisoned  for  contempt  of  court.  Is 
there  any  other  evidence  to  be  brought  forward  touching 
this  forgery?" 

"  I  will  bring  evidence  to  impeach  the  present  witness," 
replied  the  counsel  of  Atherton. 

"  All  in  good  time,  my  friend,"  rejoined  Morton,  with 
marked  emphasis,  and  a  peculiar  glance  of  deep  meaning 
toward  the  other.  "Before  proceeding  further,  your 
Honor,  I  would  have  an  officer  despatched  for  this  will, 
that  we  may  examine  it  and  compare  it  with  the  descrip- 
tion given  by  the  witness." 

"It  shall  be  done,"  replied  Alderman  Croly;  and  he 
beckoned  to  an  officer  in  attendance,  with  whom  he  held 
some  conversation,  in  a  tone  too  low  for  the  others  to 
hear. 

At  this  the  features  of  Atherton  assumed  a  sickly,  cada- 
verous appearance  of  despair ;  while  the  countenance  of 


THE  FORGED  WILL.  275 

Wesley,  and  more  especially  his  small  black  eyes,  displayed 
a  look  of  malicious  triumph. 

"  You'll  find  it,"  said  the  latter,  "  in  a  private  drawer 
of  the  escritoire,  which  stands  in  the  library." 

The  officer  soon  after  passed  out  of  the  room ;  but  ere 
he  did  so,  Morton  whispered  a  few  words  in  his  ear;  and 
then  resuming  a  seat  before  a  table,  commenced  over- 
looking some  manuscripts.  For  a  moment  deep  silence 
prevailed ;  and  the  magistrate  was  on  the  point  of  inqui- 
ring if  any  more  witnesses  for  the  prosecution  were  to 
appear,  when  the  door  slowly  opened,  and  a  pale,  ema- 
ciated, ghostly  figure  stood  in  the  entrance,  and  rolled  his 
protruding  and  glassy-looking  eyes  steadily  over  those 
present,  until  they  fell  upon  "Wesley,  where  for  a  time  they 
remained  stationary,  with  a  look  well  calculated  to  freeze 
the  blood  of  one  given  to  believe  in  the  supernatural. 

And  most  astonishing  wras  its  effect  upon  Wesley  in  the 
present  instance — insomuch  that  every  eye  became  fixed 
upon  him.  On  the  first  appearance  of  this  ghostly  object, 
the  attorney  looked  towards  it  with  a  careless,  indifferent 
air.  Then  he  slightly  started,  and  his  features  began  to 
pale.  Then  his  eyes  enlarged  and  protruded,  his  nostrils 
expanded,  and  his  lower  jaw  dropped  slightly  ajar.  But 
it  was  not  till  the  cold,  glassy,  unearthly-looking  eyes  of 
the  figure  fastened  upon  his,  that  his  terror  reached  its 
height.  Then  did  he  become  a  frightful  picture.  With  hia 
hand  raised  in  an  attitude  of  horror — his  eyes  apparently 
starting  from  his  head — his  hair  fairly  standing  on  end — 
his  mouth  wide  open — his  breath  suspended — every  feature 
of  his  countenance  distorted  with  fright  and  rigid  as  mar- 
ble— with  cold  drops  of  perspiration  pressing  through  the 
pores  of  his  skin,  and  a  slight  tremor  running  through  his 
frame — he  remained,  for  a  brief  time,  the  perfect  einbodi- 


276  THE   FORGED   WILL. 

ment  of  guilty  fear.  At  length  he  found  his  voice,  and, 
fairly  shrieked : 

"  Man  or  devil — living  or  dead— of  earth,  heaven,  or 
hell — I'll  speak  to  you !  Who  are  you  ?" 

"  Whom  you  cast  into  the  sea,"  replied  the  apparition, 
in  a  deep,  hollow,  sepulchral  voice. 

"  Great  God !"  shouted  Wesley,  springing  up  franti- 
cally :  "  can  the  sea  give  up  its  dead  before  its  time  ? 
Have  you  come  to  drag  me  to  judgement  ?"  •  , 

"  Do  you  own  to  the  horrid  deed  ?"  was  the  sepulchral 
rejoinder. 

"Yes!  to  anything — so  you'll  quit  my  sight  forever! 
Hell  can't  have  more  terrors,  and  I'd  rather  be  hung  than 
see  your  ghost  again." 

"  Then  behold  me  your  accuser  in  the  living  flesh," 
replied  the  figure,  advancing  into  the  room ;  "  and  thine 
above  all  others,  thou  man  of  crime !"  he  added,  turning 
to  Atherton,  who  was  by  this  time  almost  as  much  a  pic- 
ture of  horror  and  dismay  as  Wesley  himself. 

"  This,  your  Honor,"  said  Morton,  addressing  the  magis- 
trate, who  was  all  amazement,  "  is  another  witness  whom  I 
have  taken  the  liberty  to  introduce  in  this  manner,  for  the 
purpose  of  observing  what  effect  it  would  have  upon  the 
guilty.  This,  sir,  is  Alanson  Davis,  the  lawyer  who  drew 
up  the  original  will  of  Ethan  Courtly. 

The  reader  of  course  has  not  forgotten  the  invalid, 
whom  Edgar  found  and  had  conveyed  to  the  hospital, 
although  for  some  time  he  has  been  apparently  overlooked. 
His  malady,  as  the  physician  stated  it  would  be,  was  for 
some  days  very  severe,  so  much  so  that  his  life  was  de- 
spaired of.  But  good  medical  attendance  and  careful  nur- 
sing turned  the  important  crisis  in  his  favor,  and  from  that 
moment,  he  began  to  amend  even  more  rapidly  than  was 
anticipated.  This  was  doubtless  much  owing  to  his  strength 


THE   FORGERY. 


of  will  and  desire  to  be  abroad.  So  fast  did  he  recover, 
that  just  previous  to  the  murder  of  Ellen,  Morton  and 
Edgar  were  admitted  to  see  him,  when  he  was  able  to  state 
concisely  what  he  knew  of  the  forgery  of  Atherton.  This, 
combined  with  Wesley's  disclosure,  which  he  had  made  on 
the  morning  he  was  closeted  with  the  lawyer,  was  evidence 
sufficient  to  proceed  against  the  hypocrite;  and  Morton 
had  only  delayed  making  the  arrest  till  Davis  was  able  to 
leave  the  hospital. 

With  this  explanation  we  will  again  proceed. 

As  foon  as  Wesley  had  sufficiently  recovered  from  his 
fright  to  understand  that  Alanson  Davis  stood  before  him 
in  propria  persona,  his  look  of  fear  changed  to  one  of  joy ; 
and  springing  forward,  ere  the  other  was  aware  of  his  pur- 
pose, he  threw  his  arms  around  him  and  fairly  shouted : 

"  Imprison  me — hang  me — do  'what  you  will  with  me — 
I  don't  care  for  consequences  now;  for  though  I'm  a  villain 
I'm  no  murderer ;  and  since  I've  told  all  I  know  of  my 
dark  deeds,  which  he  (pointing  to  Atherton)  put  me  up  to, 
I've  got  an  easy  conscience  again,  which  I  wouldn't  ex- 
change for  the  wealth  of  the  Indies.  0,  sir !  (to  Davis)  if 
you  only  knew  how  I've  been  troubled  day  and  night  in 
thinking  over  what  I  did  to  you,  you'd  may  be  have  some 
compassion.  But  you  don't  know  any  thing  of  it ;  and 
can't,  till  you  do  something  like  it  yourself;  and  so  I  don't 
expect  any  leniency,  though  I  throw  myself  upon  your 
mercy." 

His  plain,  common-place,  earnest,  impetuous  words, 
produced  an  effect  upon  Davis,  which,  in  all  probability,  a 
strain  of  polished  eloquence  would  not  have  done.  It 
showed  that  the  attorney  was  sincere  in  his  repentance, 
and  not,  as  he  had  expected  to  find  him,  totally  depraved. 
There  was  the  germ  of  something  better  in  his  nature  than 
the  fruits  had  thus  far  given  evidence  of;  and  being  a  man 


278  THE   FORGED   WILL. 

more  ready  to  forgive  an  injury,  than  do  a  wrong  himself, 
Davis  thus  replied : 

"  Far  be  it  from  me  to  press  too  hard  a  repentant  man. 
What  I  have  suffered  through  your  misdeeds,  though,  God 
and  myself  only  know.  But  as  I  hope  to  be  forgiven  for 
my  own  errors,  I  am  willing  to  forgive  those  of  another 
when  I  can  justly  do  so.  You,  Nathan  Wesley,  have  been 
a  bad  man — a  man  of  guilt  and  crime  !  But  as,  unknow- 
ing of  my  existence,  you  have  taken  the  preliminary  steps 
to  bring  the  guilty  prompter  of  all  (here  he  glanced  at, 
Atherton,  who  was  grinding  his  teeth  in  rage  and  despair) 
to  punishment,  I  will  take  it  as  evidence  you  intend  to' 
become  a  better  man.  Only  convince  me,  by  subsequent 
acts,  that  your  repentance  is  sincere,  and  I  solemnly 
promise  never  to  bring  an  accusation  against  you'" 

"  You  do  ?"  cried  Westey,  with  a  look  of  ecstatic  delight. 
"  Well,  if  I  don't  do  it,  then,  may  I  be  hung  higher  than 
Haman,  and  the  carrion-eaters  tear  off  my  vile  flesh  piece 
by  piece." 

The  statement  which  Davis  made,  under  oath,  before  the 
magistrate,  in  substance  confirmed  the  evidence  of  Wes- 
ley. But  there  were  some  dark  matters,  which  his  own 
inclination  and  the  promise  he  had  made  to  the  latter,  for- 
bade him  to  touch  upon,  which  we  hasten  to  lay  before  the 
reader.  It  has  been  said  that  Davis  overheard  a  conversa- 
tion between  Atherton  and  Wesley,  which  placed  them 
both  in  his  power.  It  occurred  in  this  wise :  Atherton  had 
employed  Davis  to  draw  up  a  will  for  Courtly,  in  the 
presence  of  the  latter;  and  as  soon  as  it  was  done,  he 
(Atherton)  had  taken  possession  of  it ;  and  under  the  pre- 
text that  proper  witnesses  were  wanting,  had  delayed  its 
being  signed  at  the  time ;  but  had  requested  the  lawyer  to 
call  again  at  Courtly's  office  at  a  certain  hour  after  night- 
fall. Davis,  mistaking  the  hour,  called  previous  to  the  time 


THE   FORGERY.  279 


mentioned ;  and  finding  the  door  ajar,  and  no  light  within, 
entered,  and  took  a  seat  to  await  the  parties.  Soon  after 
Wesley  and  Atherton  came  in  together ;  and,  locking  the 
door,  proceeded  to  discuss  their  plan  of  operation ;  from 
which  it  appeared  that  a  copy  of  the  will,  drawn  up  hy 
Davis,  had  just  been  made  by  Wesley,  and  was  to  be 
presented  to  Courtly  for  signing  previous  to  the  appearance 
of  Davis,  who  was  to  be  met  by  Atherton  and  informed 
that  Courtly  had  altered  his  mind  in  regard  to  the  original 
instrument,  and  had  had  another  drawn  up  since  that 
suited  his  purpose  better.  By  this  means  the  lawyer  was 
to  be  deceived  in  regard  to  the  whole  affair,  and  his  testi- 
mony rendered  worthless  in  case  the  will  should  ever  have 
a  judicial  investigation. 

Having  at  last  arranged  every  thing  to  his  satisfaction, 
concerning  the  alteration  of  the  will,  and  how  Courtly 
was  to  be  prevented  from  returning,  &c.,  Atherton  struck 
a  light,  and,  to  his  horror  and  dismay,  discovered  that  his 
dark  secret  was  in  the  possession  of  one  who  would,  in  case 
he  escaped,  be  sure  to  betray  him.  Great  evils  require 
powerful  remedies ;  and  a  cold  calculating  man  of  crime  is 
in  general  prepared  for  all  emergencies.  It  was  so  in  the 
present  instance ;  for  drawing  a  pistol,  Atherton  placed  it 
to  the  head  of  the  lawyer,  threatening  his  life  if  he  stirred 
or  made  the  least  noise ;  and  then,  in  a  tone  too  low  for 
the  latter  to  overhear,  held  a  hurried  conference  with  Wes- 
ley. This  over,  the  scheming  man  turned  to  Davis,  and 
informed  him  his  choice  lay  between  instant  death  and  his 
secret  and  sudden  departure  from  the  country. 

"  There  is  a  vessel,"  he  said,  "  outward  bound,  which 
sails  to-morrow  morning  at  daylight.  If  you  will  consent 
to  be  blindfolded  and  conducted  on  board  of  her,  swearing 
solemnly  to  keep  our  secret  till  a  thousand  miles  are 


280  THE   FORGED   WILL. 

between  us,  you  shall  have  life,  liberty  and  a  fortune. 
Refuse  this,  and  a  speedy  death  is  yours !" 

Davis  was  not  long  in  deciding,  and  of  course  chose  the 
least  of  the  two  evils.  To  be  brief,  a  bandage  was 
instantly  passed  around  his  eyes ;  and  completely  muffled 
in  a  cloak,  with  the  point  of  a  dagger  resting  on  his  heart, 
and  the  assurance  that  an  attempt  to  call  for  aid  would 
cause  it  to  be  buried  to  the  hilt,  he  was  escorted  by 
Atherton  and  Wesley  to  the  water,  where,  a  skiff  being 
procured,  he  was  placed  in  it,  and  rowed  away  by  the 
latter,  while  the  former  returned  to  town. 

For  a  couple  of  hours  he  was  thus  borne  along  the 
waters,  until  the  noise  of  the  city  had  died  away  in  the 
distance,  and  the  steady  strokes  of  the  oarsman,  and  the 
rippling  of  the  light  billows  against  the  boat,  were  the  only 
sounds  audible.  Suddenly  the  oars  ceased ;  and  thinking 
himself  near  the  vessel,  Davis  was  on  the  point  of  address- 
ing Wesley,  when  the  latter  careened  the  boat,  and  with  a 
vigorous  shove  plunged  him  headlong  into  the  water.  As 
he  fell,  the  bandage  slipped  off,  and  he  could  just  see  the 
other  rowing  rapidly  away,  and  the  lights  of  the  town  far 
in  the  distance.  He  called  to  Wesley,  and  begged  him, 
for  the  love  of  Heaven,  not  to  leave  him  thus  to  die— but 
of  course  his  entreaties  were  in  vain.  Being  a  good  swim- 
mer, Davis  now  struck  out  boldly  for  a  small  island  about 
a  mile  to  leeward ;  but  ere  he  made  two-thirds  of  the  dis- 
tance, he  found  his  strength  failing  him  rapidly.  Fortu- 
nately, he  espied  a  log  floating  near,  which  he  managed  to 
gain  in  a  state  of  great  exhaustion ;  and  clinging  to  this 
he  floated  away  on  the  current,  which  was  setting  hard 
towards  the  open  sea.  In  this  manner  he^  passed  the  night, 
and  the  next  morning  found  himself  at  least  ten  miles 
from  land,  and  still  floating  seaward. 

But  it  is  not  our  design  to  detail  his  adventures,  which 


THE   FORGERY.  281 


of  themselves  would  fill  a  volume.  Suffice,  then,  that  ere 
another  night  set  in,  he  was  picked  up  in  a  state  bordering 
on  unconsciousness,  by  a  vessel  bound  on  a  trading  voyage 
to  the  coast  of  Africa.  This  vessel  was  afterwards  wrecked 
on  that  coast,  and  all  aboard  of  her,  save  Davis  and 
another,  perished.  These  latter  might  as  well  have  been 
dead ;  for  they  were  made  prisoners  by  the  blacks,  and 
subjected  to  the  most  brutal  treatment.  In  fact,  the  com- 
panion of  Davis  was  afterwards  murdered  before  his  eyes, 
and  his  own  life  only  preserved  by  a  whim  of  the  chief  of 
the  tribe,  who  fancied  it  would  become  his  dignity  to  hvee 
a  white  slave. 

In  this  captivity  Davis  remained  for  three  years,  when 
he  effected  his  escape,  and  fortunately  got  on  board  a  ves- 
sel bound  for  the  Indies.  Thence  he  sailed  to  Liverpool ; 
and  finally,  after  a  great  many  perils  and  vicissitudes, 
landed  in  New  York,  where,  being  seized  with  a  fever  and 
thrust  out  of  doors,  he  was  found  by  Edgar  as  previously 
related. 

On  examination  of  the  Courtly  will,  the  alterations 
mentioned  by  Wesley  were  readily  discovered ;  and  not- 
withstanding the  original  writing  had  been  extracted  in  the 
manner  stated,  still,  on  very  close  inspection,  here  and 
there  a  word,  or  a  part  of  a  word,  faintly  traced,  could  be, 
detected.  This,  combined  with  the  testimony  of  Davis  and 
Wesley,  was  overwhelming  evidence  against  Atherton, 
and  he  was  accordingly  committed  to  the  Tombs  to  take 
his  trial  at  the  next  sitting  of  the  criminal  conrt. 

Incarcerated  in  the  gloomy  cell  of  a  prison ;  alone  with 
his  own  guilty  thoughts ;  abandoned  by  all  who  had  once 
fawned  upon  and  flattered  him ;  his  previous  deeds  viewed 
alike  with  horror  and  contempt  by  the  virtuous  ;  his  repu- 
tation and  prospects  in  life  blasted  forever ;  his  own  chil- 
dren withdrawn  from  him  by  the  strong  hand  of  fate — the 
24 


282  THE   FORGED   TTILL. 


one  a  murderer,  -within  the  same  strong  walls  that  barred 
his  own  liberty,  and  about,  it  might  be,  to  end  his  career 
on  th£  gallows — the  other  a  poor  invalid,  now  left  to  the 
protection  of  strangers,  perchance  to  finish  her  days  in  a 
mad-house  ;  without  a  single  hope  to  cheer  the  heavy  hours 
that  now  rolled  by  more  tardily  than  ever  years  had  done 
before ;  the  pale,  thin  spectre  of  his  deeply  wronged  and 
almost  murdered  sister  continually  before  his  mental 
vision:  with  all  this  to  oppress  him,  Atherton  now  gave 
himself  up  to  the  wildest  despair,  a  thousand  times  wished 
he  never  had  been  born,  and  would  have  put  an  end  to  his 
own  existence,  but  that  his  guilty  conscience  trembled  at 
the  solemn  thought  of  what  might  be  his  final  doom  in  the 
great  Hereafter. 

Now  it  was  he  saw  and  felt  the  fickle-heartedness  of 
worldly  friends — of  those  who  fawn  upon  and  hang  around 
the  rich  while  fortune  is  propitious,  as  the  bee  clings  to  the 
flower  till  its  honey-sweets  are  exhausted — for  of  all  his 
numerous  acquaintances,  including  those  he  had  looked 
upon  as  intimate  associates,  only  some  two  or  three  called 
upon  him  in  prison ;  and  these,  with  the  exception  of  one, 
more  apparently  for  curiosity's  than  friendship's  sake. 

The  exception  was  the  Rev.  Mr.  Parkhurst,  the  man  of 
all  others  Atherton  most  wished  yet  dreaded  to  behold. 
The  clergyman,  good  soul,  was  deeply  grieved  :  and  though 
he  was  now  aware  he  had  been  grossly  deceived  in  the  pris- 
oner— whom  he  now  looked  upon  as  a  guilty  being,  who, 
while  enacting  the  vilest  deeds,  had  doubly  perilled  his  soul 
by  masking  all  under  the  semblance  of  holy  religion ;  still 
his  was  a  Christian  spirit  to  overlook  and  forgive,  and  hum- 
bly hope  and  pray  to  see  the  tree  give  forth  better  fruits. 
He  still  urged  upon  Atherton  the  importance  of  faith  in 
God,  and  reliance  upon  His  mercy  for  pardon  of  his  many 
sins  and  transgressions,  and  bogged  him  to  ?eok  that  con- 


THE   FORGERY  283 


solation  in  sincere  repentance,  which  now,  in  every  other 
manner,  would  be  denied  him. 

Atherton  listened  to  him  through,  with  what  patience  his 
harassed  mind  would  allow ;  and  then,  without  attempting 
dissimulation  again,  abruptly  changed  the  subject  to  his 
daughter,  the  one  which  now  bore  the  hardest  upon  his 
half  distracted  senses.  But  it  was  little  consolation  he  re- 
ceived from  the  answers  of  the  clergyman.  Arabella  had 
heard  of  her  father's  arrest,  and  that  her  brother  was  still 
a  prisoner ;  and  the  effect  had  been  to  completely  upset  her 
reason.  She  was  now  an  unconscious  guest  of  Mr.  Park- 
hurst  ;  who,  having  no  children  of  his  own,  promised  to 
look  faithfully  to  her  welfare ;  and,  in  the  event  of  her 
mind  becoming  sane,  would,  with  her  consent,  adopt  and 
make  her  heir  to  the  little  he  possessed. 

In  the  course  of  a  month  from  his  arrest,  Oliver  Ather- 
ton was  arraigned  at  the  bar  of  justice  to  take  his  trial  for 
the  crime  of  forgery.  Meantime  a  great  sensation  had 
been  caused  throughout  the  city  and  country,  and  the 
press  in  all  quarters  of  the  Union,  and  even  in  Europe, 
was  teeming  with  details  of  the  singular  affair  of  both 
father  and  son,  from  the  highest  circles  of  aristocracy  and 
fashion,  being  incarcerated  in  the  same  prison,  at  the  same 
time,  for  two  such  flagrant  outrages  against  the  law  of  God 
and  man. 

As  the  day  of  trial  drew  near,  great  efforts  were  made, 
by  interested  persons,  to  get  the  witnesses  for  the  prosecu- 
tion out  of  the  way,  by  heavy  bribes  and  threats  of  assas- 
sination, but  all  to  no  purpose.  Both  Wesley  and  Davis 
appeared,  and  amid  a  court-room  crowded  almost  to  suffo- 
cation, while  thousands  without  were  forced  to  depart  with 
their  curiosity  unsatisfied,  gave  in  their  testimony.  The 
trial  was  not  a  long  one  ;  for  the  evidence  was  direct  and 
positive ;  the  will  showed  for  itself;  the  prosecution 


284  THE   FORGED   WILL. 

summed  up  briefly ;  and  though  the  counsel  for  the  prisoner 
attempted  to  impeach  the  witnesses  and  made  a  labored 
defence,  yet  so  rapidly  was  all  carried  through,  that  on 
the  second  day  the  judge  gave  his  charge  to  the  jury,  who 
retired  for  half  an  hour,  and  brought  in  a  verdict  of 
"  Guilty." 

The  prisoner,  pale,  emaciated,  and  breathless  with  fear- 
ful excitement,  heard  the  awful  word  of  condemnation,  sunk 
down  with  a  groan  of  agony  that  for  a  time  seemed  to  de- 
prive him  of  consciousness. 

The  judge,  after  proper  deliberation,  proceeded  to  make 
some  very  appropriate  remarks  on  the  heinousness  of  his 
crime  ;  and  winding  up  with  the  observation  that  he  con- 
sidered it  a  very  aggravated  case,  sentenced  Oliver  Ather- 
ton  to  fifteen  years  hard  labor  in  the  state-prison.  He  was 
then,  more  dead  than  alive,  remanded  to  his  cell,  to  await 
his  turn  to  be  taken  hence  to  serve  out  his  term  of  sentence 
among  the  vilest  of  criminals. 

Before  he  left  the  city,  the  forger  requested  an  inter- 
view with  his  daughter ;  who  had,  meantime,  regained  her 
reason,  but  was  still  in  feeble  health.  Arabella,  more  like 
a  spectre  than  her  former  self,  accompanied  by  the  Rev. 
Mr.  Parkhurst,  who  had  done  all  in  his  power  to  restore 
her,  and  soften,  by  godly  counsel,  her  overwhelming  afflic- 
tion, waited  upon  him  in  prison,  where,  for  an  hour,  father 
and  daughter  were  closeted  together.  When  Arabella 
came  forth,  it  was  with  a  tottering  step  ;  and  being  con- 
ducted to  a  carriage,  she  was  conveyed  to  her  present 
home,  and  again  placed  in  bed,  where  she  remained,  her 
spirit  hovering  on  the  verge  of  eternity  for  a  period  of 
several  weeks. 

Atherton  was  also,  at  his  own  request,  granted  a  part- 
ing interview  with  his  guilty  son  ;  and  when  the  jailor  came 
in  to  separate  them,  he  found  both  lying  upon  the  floor  and 


THE   FORGERY.  285 


locked  in  each  other's  arms.  They  finally  parted  as  two 
beings  who  fondly  love,  but  expect  never  to  behold  each 
other  again  in  mortal  life ;  and  the  separation  was  such, 
that,  hardened  as  he  was  in  all  manner  of  prison  scenes, 
the  jailor  could  not  restrain  a  tear  of  pity  at  the  awful 
doom  they  had  justly  drawn  down  upon  themselves. 

The  next  morning,  heavily  ironed,  like  a  common  felon, 
the  once  proud,  courted,  opulent  and  philanthropic,  but 
hypocritical  and  guilty  Oliver  Atherton,  was  borne  from 
the  city,  a  condemned  criminal,  to  expiate,  according  to 
the  law  he  had  violated,  his  daring  offense  against  the  wel- 
fare of  community. 

Further,  for  the  present,  we  shall  follow  him  not,  but 
leave  him  to  justice  and  his  fate. 


24< 


CHAPTER  XXVL 

THE   LOVERS. 

IT  was  just  after  the  close  of  the  trial  of  her  uncle,  by 
which  the  law  had  decided  that  the  immense  possessions  of 
her  father  had  been  wrongfully  withheld  from  herself  and 
brother,  and  when  she  had  in  a  manner  exchanged  her  hum- 
ble state  of  poverty  and  dependance  for  that  of  a  brilliant 
heiress  of  great  wealth,  and  knew  that  her  hand  would  now 
be  eagerly  sought  for  by  thousands,  who,  a  few  weeks  pre- 
vious, would  have  looked  upon  her  with  pity  and  contempt 
— it  was  just  at  this  period,  we  say,  when  she  had  every 
inducement  to  be  vain  and  proud,  had  vanity  or  pride 
formed  a  part  of  her  nature — that  Virginia  Courtly,  still 
an  honored  guest  of  the  Mortons,  who  would  not  listen  to 
aught  touching  her  departure,  sat  alone  with  Dudley,  in 
the  splendid  parlor  of  the  lawyer's  elegant  mansion,  her 
fair  features  very  pale,  and  her  soft  blue  eyes  fixed  with  a 
look  of  earnest  surprise  upon  the  one  by  her  side,  as  if  he 
had  just  uttered  a  sentence  whose  meaning  she  did  not  dis- 
tinctly comprehend.  The  eyes  of  Dudley  were  looking 
tenderly  into  hers ;  but  there  was  a  crimson  hue  on  his 
cheek,  a  tremor  in  his  voice,  and  an  embarrassment  in  his 
manner,  as  he  said: 

"  Yes,  Virginia,  I  repeat,  that  for  your  sake  and  that  of 
your  noble  brother,  I  am  rejoiced  to  know  you  both  will 
soon  come  into  possession  of  an  immense  fortune ;  but  still 
it  makes  me  rather  sad  than  otherwise  to  think  of  it." 

"  And  wherefore,  Mr.  Dudley,  should  you  be  sad  '!" 
(286) 


I 

T1IE   LOVERS.  287 


"  Why,  with  wealth,  you  know,  come  great  expectations  ; 
and  it  sometimes  happens,  that  those  who  have  been  friends 
in  poverty,  suddenly  become  estranged  when  fortune  raises 
one  above  the  other. 

"  Why  surely,  you  cannot  so  wrong  me,  as  to  suppose 
the  mere  acquisition  of  wealth  will  alter  my  deep  feelings 
of  friendship  for  you?" 

"  Do  not  say  wrong  you,  Virginia,  (and  his  voice  faltered 
to  pathetic  tenderness,)  for  I  would  not  wrong  you  for  the 
world  !  Neither  can  I  conscientiously  say  I  think  your 
friendship  will  be  less  sincere  and  ardent,  when  you  have 
become  the  heiress  of  half  a  million,  than  at  this  present 
moment ;  but,  Virginia,  (and  his  tone  became  low  and 
tremulous,)  you  are  aware,_,doubtless,  there  are  sometimes 
aspirations  in  the  heart  that  reach  beyond  mere  friendship, 
and  deepen  into  the  stronger  and  holier  sentiment  of  love ; 
and  when  this  is  the  case,  where  there  is  a  great  disparity  of 
position,  he  or  she  who  stands  the  lowest  in  the  scale,  can 
only  hope  tremulously,  or  with  a  hope  full  of  doubt,  and 
fear,  and  bordering  on  despair." 

As  he  spoke,  with  his  eyes  fixed  intently  upon  her,  the 
gaze  of  Virginia  sunk  modestly  to  the  ground,  her  features 
flushed  and  paled  alternately,  and  her  respiration  became 
irregular,  showing  that  his  words  had  a  power  of  meaning 
beyond  what  they  clearly  expressed.  After  looking  at  her 
a  moment,  Dudley,  in  a  low,  tender  tone,  resumed : 

"  There  was  a  time,  Virginia — ere  in  my  mind  there 
came  a  foretokening  of  the  events  which  have  since  trans- 
pired, and  by  which,  as  every  one  can  foretell,  you  are 
destined  to  take  an  exalted  position  in  society — when  I 
gazed  upon  you  with  a  delight,  a  rapture,  which,  though  I 
was  then  able  in  a  measure  to  mask,  I  have  not  language 
now  to  describe— and  when  I  fondly  looked  forward  to  a 
no  distant  period,  and  fancied  that,  as  an  humble  individual, 


288  THE   FORGED   WILL. 

I  could  ask  your  hand  as  an  equal,  and  fear  not  the  rivalry 
of  more  wealthy  suitors." 

"And  has  that  time  passed?"  inquired  Virginia,  with  a 
deeper  blush,  and  in  a  faltering  voice. 

"  Perhaps  not  wholly ;  but  you  know,  as  well  as  I,  that 
as  an  heiress  of  half  a  million,  you  are  a  match  for  the 
most  brilliant  spirits  of  the  age,  and  can  have  a  host  of 
admirers  at  your  feet,  who,  if  they  cannot  equal  you  in 
fortune,  can  go  so  far  beyond  him  who  has  nothing  but  a 
name " 

"And  shall  I,"  interrupted  Virginia,  now  raising  her 
eyes,  sparkling  with  animation,  to  those  of  Dudley — "  shall 
I  for  these  puppets  of  the  world,  these  butterflies  of  fashion, 
relinquish  the  friends  that  came  nobly  forward  in  my  hours 
of  adversity,  and  raised  my  drooping  spirits  when  they 
were  sinking  under  the  treble  weight  of  poverty,  grief  and 
despair ;  and  taught  me  there  was  something  still  to  live 
for,  to  hope  for,  that  human  nature  was  not  all  corrupted 
and  depraved — shall  I,  I  say,  because  fortune  has  chanced 
to  smile  upon  me  once  more,  now  prove  myself  ungrateful, 
without  nobility  of  soul,  and  forget  the  latter  and  embrace 
the  former — who  would,  but  for  my  money,  turn  from  me 
with  contempt — simply  because  in  the  worthless  dross  of 
this  world  (worthless  beyond  what  we  need  ourselves,  or 
use  to  the  benefit  of  our  fellows,)  we  are  nearly  equal  ?  No, 
Heaven  forbid !  "What  is  their  wealth  to  me,  if  I  have 
enough  of  my  own  ?  Oh  !  I  have  suffered  too  keenly  the 
pangs  of  destitution,  to  prize  those  who  look  with  scorn 
upon  the  poor ;  and  would  rather  have  one  noble,  generous, 
sympathising  soul  by  my  side,  though  needy  as  Lazarus, 
than  be  surrounded  by  the  most  brilliant  array  of  the  hol- 
low-hearted world,  though  every  glance  from  them  bestowed 
my  weight  in  gold,  and  every  smile  became  a  diamond  fit 
for  the  crown  of  an  emperor!" 


THE   LOVERS.  289 


"Nobly  spoken!"  cried  Dudley,  with  an  enthusiastic 
gleam  of  delight.  And  then  his  countenance  seemed  to 
change,  as  by  some  painful  recollection,  and  he  immediately 
added,  in  a  subdued  tone :'  "  But  all  who  are  rich  are  not 
hollow-hearted.  There  are  some,  who,  having  almost 
boundless  wealth  at  their  command,  seem  to  seek  only  the 
means  to  spend  it  to  the  best  advantage  of  their  fellow 
beings ;  and  who,  in  every  act  of  life,  study  to  exalt  them- 
selves and  ennoble  others.  Of  this  class  there  may  be 
congenial  spirits,  who  will  seek  your  hand,  and  who  are 
possessed  of  every  requisite  to  make  you  happy.  And  this 
reminds'me,  Virginia,  that  I  have  a  charge  to  execute  for 
a  friend,  whom  I  esteem  as  my  own  life ;  and  who,  having 
seen  you  at  various  times,  believes  you  the  very  paragon 
of  excellence.  But  read  this,  and  doubtless  you  will  more 
fully  comprehend  my  meaning ;"  and  he  handed  Virginia 
a  letter,  beautifully  folded  and  sealed  and  stamped  with 
care,  on  which  her  own  name  was  delicately  traced  in  hand- 
some characters. 

Virginia  opened,  glanced  over  it  quickly,  marked  the 
name  at  the  bottom,  and  then,  with  a  heightened  color,  re- 
perused  it  more  leisurely. 

"  This  is  strange  !"  she  said  as  she  finished  the  epistle  : 
"  This  is  very  strange  ! — Are  you  aware,  Mr.  Dudley, 
what  this  billet  contains  ?" 

"  Nothing,  I  trust  offensive — or  I  shall  never  forgive 
myself  for  being  the  messenger  of  conveyance,"  replied 
Dudley,  earnestly. 

"  No,  it  contains  nothing  offensive  in  reality ;  and  yet  I 
would  it  had  never  been  written. 

"And  wherefore,  Virginia?" 

"  Because  I  must  disappoint  the  hopes  of  the  writer.  It 
is,  in  a  word,  a  declaration  of  love  from  Clarence  Malcolm, 
and  an  offer  of  his  hand." 


290  THE   FORGED   WILL. 

"  And  will  you  refuse  to  accept  both,  when  I  assure  you 
they  are  made  in  all  sincerity?"  asked  Dudley  coloring. 

"  I  have  heard  much  of  Mr.  Malcolm,"  replied  Virginia, 
"  and  believe  him  all  that  is  generous  and  noble,  and,  as 
your  own  most  intimate  friend,  must  ever  hold  him  in  high 
esteem ;  but  you  must  remember,  withal,  I  have  never  seen 
him ;  and  even  if  I  had,  and  had  found  him  as  near  per- 
fection as  mortal  man  can  ever  become,  must  still  have 
rejected  his  suit." 

"  On  what  grounds?" 

"That  I  cannot  give  my  hand  where  my  heart  is  not." 

"  But  an  acquaintance  with  each  other  might  excite  a 
mutual  passion." 

"  Never,  Mr.  Dudley ;  for  she  who  truly  loves,  can  love 
but  once." 

"  Ah,  then  you  love  !"  sighed  Dudley. 

Virginia  hung  her  head,  with  a  blush  and  was  silent. 

"And  might  I  venture  to  inquire,"  said  Dudley,  after  a 
pause,  in  a  faltering,  embarassed  tone,  "  who  is  the  fortu- 
nate rival  of  my  friend  ?" 

"  And  can  you  ask  that  ?"  replied  Virginia,  naively, 
turning  away  her  head,  and  seeming  to  search  for  something 
she  had  lost. 

Dudley  started,  his  voice  was  tremulous,  but  eager,  as  he 
rejoined: 

"  Do  I  understand  aright  ?  Is  it  possible  that  poor 
Dudley  is  preferred  to  his  wealthy  friend  ?  Speak,  dear 
Virginia,  and  keep  me  not  in  suspense  ?  Let  me  not  soar 
aloft  on  the  bright  wings  of  hope,  only  to  be  dashed  back 
on  the  dark  rocks  of  disappointment  and  despair?  As 
poor  Dudley,  I  have  nothing  to  offer  you  but  my  hand  and 
heart;  but  if  these  will  suffice,  they  are  yours;  and  my 
very  existence  shall  be  devoted  to  add,  by  every  means  in 
liiy  power,  to  your  happiness.  Our  acquaintance  has  not 


THE   LOVERS.  291 


been  long,  it  is  true ;  but  there  are  hearts  which  so  har- 
monise from  the  very  first,  that  time  can  add  nothing  but 
its  own  strength  of  years  to  an  attachment  formed  for 
endurance  through  this  life  and  the  after  life  beyond  the 
grave.  In  a  word,  I  felt  I  loved  you  from  our  first  meeting ; 
and  now  that  I  have,  perhaps,  presumptuously,  fancied  a 
reciprocity  of  feeling,  I  offer  you  my  hand,  and  ask  that 
you  will  be  mine.  Speak,  dear  Virginia,  the  single  word, 
that  will  elevate  me  to  the  very  pinnacle  of  rapture,  or 
plunge  me  far  down  the  precipice  of  regret  and  disappoint- 
ment !  Speak,  dearest — will  you  be  mine  ?" 

Virginia  did  not  reply ;  but  there  was  that  in  her  appear- 
ance and  manner — a  certain  silent  language  of  the  heart, 
shining  out  in  warm  blushes  upon  the  cheek,  and  raising  the 
pearly  tear  in  her  soft  blue  eye,  as  tenderly  and  tremulously 
it  beamed  upon  his — that  spoke  with  an  eloquence  exceeding 
words.  Quietly  Dudley  stole  her  fair  hand,  and  pressed 
it  to  his  lips ;  and  then,  emboldened  by  this,  drew  her  gen- 
tly and  unresistingly  to  his  heart,  and  sealed  upon  her 
ruby  lips  the  first  holy  kiss  of  eternal  love  and  pledge  of 
union  on  earth  and  in  the  life  immortal. 

For  the  space  of  half  an  hour  there  was  little  or  nothing 
said — for  true  love  is  ever  the  most  eloquent  in  silence — 
and  then  Dudley,  with  an  arch  smile  on  his  countenance, 
and  in  a  cheerful  tone,  spoke : 

"And  now,  dearest  Virginia,  say  you  wish  Clarence 
Malcolm  joy  in  his  triumph." 

"Joy  in  his  triumph!"  repeated  Virginia,  with  a  look 
of  surprise.  "  I  do  not  understand  you.  To  what  triumph 
do  you  allude?" 

"  His  triumph  in  winning  you." 

"  In  winning  me,  Dudley  ?  I  am  more  at  a  loss  than 
ever  to  understand  you." 

"I  see  yon   are,  dearest,"  he  replied,  dropping  grace-* 


292  THE   FORGED   WILL. 

fully  upon  one  knee,  taking  her  hand,  and  looking  tenderly 
into  her  sweet,  blue  eye/  "Dudley  no  more,  then;  but  in 
him  who  kneels  at  your  feet,  behold  Clarence  Malcolm  in 
propria  persona  !" 

"  You — you  Clarence  Malcolm  ? — Dudley  and  Malcolm 
one?"  cried  Virginia,  in  astonishment. 

"  Even  so,  dearest ;  and  now,  ere  I  rise,  I  must  have 
pardon  for  having  in  the  least  deceived  you ;  though  by 
this  deceit  I  have  been  rendered  happy  above  my  deserts, 
in  knowing  I  have  been  accepted  for  myself  alone,  and  not 
for  my  possessions,  which  are  great  beyond  my  wants. 
When  first  I  met  you,  I  gave  my  name  as  Dudley,  without 
a  design  other  than  the  whim  of  the  moment ;  but  after 
circumstances  induced  me  to  keep  you  in  ignorance  of  my 
real  appellation ;  in  which  I  have  thus  far  succeeded, 
though  at  the  risk,  many  times,  of  an  exposure  from 
others." 

"  Does  Edgar  know  of  this  ?" 

"  He  did  not  till  quite  recently,  when  some  one  calling 
me  by  my  real  name  in  his  presence,  I  was  forced  to  explain 
— though  I  did  it  by  exacting  of  him  a  promise  to  withhold 
the  secret  from  you." 

"  And  the  Widow  Malcolm,  then,  whom  I  have  so  often 
visited  with  you " 

"  Is  my  own  mother." 

'  '  I  am  all  bewilderment.  I  thought  it  very  strange  I 
never  met  Clarence,  but  supposed  it  purely  accidental. 
Now,  methinks,  I  can  recall  a  hundred  scenes  when  you 
were  on  the  point  of  being  exposed,  and  many  that  looked 
mysterious  to  me,  though  not  sufficiently  so  to  excite  a 
suspicion  of  the  real  cause." 

"  Well,  dearest,  you  forgive  me?" 

"  Freely  so,  on  one  condition." 

"  Name  it." 


THE   LOVERS.  293 


"  That  as  Dudley  you  wooed,  and  as  Dudley  you  won 
me,  I  may  still  call  you  by  that  endearing  title." 

"  So  be  it,  dearest  Virginia,  and  not  wholly  call  me 
wrongly ;  for  as  my  mother's  maiden  name  was  Dudley,  I 
shall  feel  myself  entitled  henceforth  to  sign  myself  Clarence 
Dudley  Malcolm,  and  seal  it  thus ;"  and  rising  from  his 
kneeling  posture,  he  imprinted  a  second  kiss  upon  the  lips 
of  her  who  was  now  pledged  to  him  forever. 

It  was  a  calm,  beautiful,  moonlight  night,  and  in  the 
solemn  "place  of  graves" — the  sacred  sanctuary  of  those 
who  have  "  shuffled  off  this  mortal  coil "  and  gone  down  to 
that  silent,  cold,  untroubled  rest  that  knows  no  waking — 
two  forms  might  be  seen  moving  slowly  on  together — the 
one  a  noble  youth  in  the  first  vigor  of  early  manhood — the 
other  a  maiden  in  all  the  sweet,  fresh  loveliness  of  the 
opening  rose.  Slowly  these  two  beings  moved  on  together, 
with  silent,  solemn  step,  as  if  their  feet  pressed  the  ground 
with  a  reverence  too  sacred  to  jar  the  earth  above  the 
final  sleep  of  the  dead.  All  was  silent  here — though  the 
busy  hum  of  the  city,  whose  lights  were  sparkling  not  afar, 
could  be  faintly  heard  like  the  roll  of  a  distant  drum.  All 
was  still.  Not  a  breeze  stirred  the  blade  and  plant,  that 
had  here  grown  rank  in  their  summer  day,  and  had  fallen 
crisp  and  sere  beneath  the  fatal  blasts  and  frosts  of  chil- 
ling autumn  and  hoary  winter.  Not  a  breath  rustled  the 
leaves,  that,  in  their  day,  had  made  the  trees  as  sylvan 
bowers,  but  had  long  since  been  stripped  of  their  beauty, 
and  now  lay  withered  and  crumbling  above  the  mortal 
remains  of  those  who  had  planted  and  trained  their  sup- 
porters in  infancy.  The  fair  moon,  riding  high  in  the 
clear  heavens,  poured  down  her  mellow  beams  through  the 
naked  trees,  upon  the  crisped  plants  and  blades ;  upon  the 
faded  flowers  that  had  bloomed  and  decayed  above  the 
remains  of  frail  mortality ;  upon  the  withered  leaves,  that 
25 


294  THE  FORGED  WILL. 

now  spread  a  funeral  pall  over  earth's  best  and  fairest — 
over  hearts  that  had  once  beat  high  with  hope  and  joy,  or, 
burning  with  the  passion-fires  of  unrequited  love,  or  failing 
ambition,  or  corroding  grief,  or  stinging  remorse,  had  at 
last  been  quenched  in  despair,  and  smothered  in  death; 
upon  sculptured  marble,  that  told,  with  ostentatious  vanity, 
of  the  once  opulent  dust  that  now  reposed  beneath ;  upon 
plain  marble  stones,  that  marked  the  resting  place  of  those 
who,  having  followed  a  middle  course  of  life,  had  been 
quietly  "gathered  to  their  fathers;"  upon  plain  mounds  of 
earth,  that  covered  such  as  had  fallen  too  recently,  or  too 
much  in  poverty,  or  with  friends  too  few,  to  have  their 
last  homes  more  conspicuously  marked ;  upon  the  remains 
of  wealth  and  poverty,  virtue  and  vice,  the  good  and  the 
bad:  upon  the  quick  and  the  dead  the  fair  moon  shone 
down — here  brightening  this  object  to  bold  relief,  there 
casting  that  in  the  gloom  of  deep  shadow — but  still  shining 
steadily  down,  with  a  silvery,  solemn  light,  as  if  aware  her 
beams  fell  upon  a  spot  made  hallowed  by  the  frail  dust  of 
those  who  had  gone  hence  forever. 

Slowly  the  two  figures  moved  on  together,  in  silence, 
with  even  pace,  past  high-wrought  monuments  and  common 
stones — past  tombs  of  high  and  lowly  born — past  graves 
of  rich  and  poor — past  light  and  shade,  and  every  where 
amid  decay :  slowly  they  moved  on,  till,  far  aside  from 
where  most  lay  buried,  they  paused  over  a  small  rise  of 
earth  that  had  never  yet  been  green  above  its  mortal  tenant. 
Here  the  youth  took  the  hand  of  the  maiden  in  one  that 
trembled  with  deep  emotion ;  and  while  with  the  other  he 
brushed  away  the  dew  that,  from  the  fountain  of  his  heart, 
had  gathered  in  his  eye,  he  said : 

"  What  place  so  fitting  for  sacred  things  as  above  the 
remains  of  one  we  most  dearly  prized  in  life  !  Here  it  is, 
beholding  the  vanities  of  all  things  earthly,  we  feel  least 


THE   LOVERS.  295 


tempted  with  its  deceits,  and  most  sincerely  desirous  to 
embrace  those  pure  and  holy  joys,  which,  though  intangible, 
are  still  incorruptible,  and,  being  beyond  the  power  of 
annihilation,  can  only  by  death  be  changed  to  a  more 
blissful  state  of  existence.  Next  to  the  pure  enjoyment  of 
religion,  is  that  of  mutual  love,  pledged  by  two  hearts,  that 
assimilate  as  the  quiet  stream  and  placid  lake,  to  become 
one  and  undivided  when  once  united.  Edith,  (and  tho 
voice  of  the  speaker  became  low  and  tremulous,)  we  have 
been  much  together — in  the  short  space  of  weeks,  I  feel  AVG 
have  known  each  other  for  years — the  sentiments  of  my 
heart  are  already  in  your  keeping — and  here,  on  the  most 
sacred  spot  which  earth  holds  for  me,  I  offer  you  my  hand, 
and  with  it  pledge  you  my  unchangeable,  undying  love  !" 

There  was  a  silence,  after  the  voice  of  the  speaker  had 
ceased — a  tremulous  silence  on  the  part  of  the  maiden — 
and  then,  in  a  solemn,  sweet,  silvery,  artless  tone,  she 
replied : 

"  Edgar,  as  sacredly,  as  solemnly,  and  sincerely  as  it  is 
proffered,  do  I  accept  your  hand  and  heart ;  and  in  return 
yield  you  a  love  as  true  as  Heaven,  and  constant  as  the 
needle  to  its  bridal  star." 

"  Above  thy  mortal  remains,  witness  it,  0  mother,  thou 
saint  in  heaven !  and  thou  Great  Ruler  of  all !  that  here 
we  freely  pledge  ourselves  to  each  other,  and  stamp  it 
with  a  seal  of  more  than  mortal  affection ;"  and  upon  the 
lips  of  the  lovely,  trembling  Edith  Morton,  Edgar  Courtly 
imprinted  the  first  holy  kiss  of  their  mutual  and  enduring 
love. 


CHAPTER  XXVII. 

CONCLUSION. 

WE  have  stated  previously,  that  it  was  not  our  design 
to  give  in  detail  the  trial  of  Acton  Atherton  for  the  murder 
of  Ellen  Douglas — the  only  one  he  was  destined  to  have — 
as  Virginia,  after  hearing  of  the  fate  of  the  latter,  had 
positively  refused  to  appear  against  him — although,  on 
behalf  of  the  State,  her  evidence  alone  would  perhaps  have 
been  sufficient  to  convict  him.  It  will  therefore  only  be 
necessary  for  our  purpose  to  briefly  sketch  the  proceedings 
against  him  and  the  result. 

The  day  then,  that  Acton  was  put  upon  trial  for  his 
life,  was  one  marked  with  an  excitement  almost  as 
intense  as  when  he  was  first  brought  forward  for  exami- 
nation. The  trial  itself  was  long  and  tedious,  and  thou- 
sands were  daily  forced  to  go  away  without  getting  a 
glimpse  of  the  prisoner — the  court-room,  from  the  earliest 
to  the  latest  hour,  being  crowded  almost  to  a  state  of 
suffocation.  The  evidence  in  the  case  was  mainly  circum- 
stantial, and  in  no  instance  for  the  prosecution  positive — the 
nearest  approach  to  it  being  the  testimony  of  Sarah  Farling ; 
who  swore  that,  to  the  best  of  her  belief,  the  person  she 
admitted  into  the  dwelling  of  Madame  Costellan,  just  pre- 
vious to  the  murder  of  Ellen,  was  the  prisoner — but  that  it 
was  he,  she  would  not  positively  affirm.  The  evidence, 
therefore,  on  the  part  of  the  state,  was  wholly  circumstantial 
— but  of  such  a  nature,  at  the  same  time,  that  no  one 
doubted  of  the  guilt  of  the  prisoner,  and  very  few  of  his  final 
(296) 


CONCLUSION.  297 


conviction.  The  cloak  and  dagger  were  both  brought  for- 
ward and  identified  as  his  property — the  tailor  who  made  the 
one  being  summoned  as  a  witness,  and  the  merchant  who  sold 
the  other  likewise.  It  was  not  only  proved  that  these  were  the 
property  of  the  prisoner,  but  that  both  were  in  his  possession 
an  hour  previous  to  the  awful  deed,  and  the  sheath  of  the 
dagger  was  found  on  his  person  at  the  time  of  his  arrest. 
It  was  proved,  too,  he  had  often  made  bitter  threats  against 
the  life  of  the  deceased,  and  that  he  had  been  seen  going  in 
the  direction  of  her  abode  only  half  an  hour  previous  to  the 
fatal  deed.  Here,  on  evidence  as  strong,  apparently, 
as  "  holy  writ,"  the  prosecution  rested. 

The  defence  opened  by  an  attempt  to  prove  the  previous 
good  conduct  of  the  prisoner,  and  impeach  some  of  the 
witnesses  of  the  state — both  of  which  attempts  were  little 
better  than  failures;  and  everyone  had  settled  it  in  his 
own  mind  that  the  prisoner  must  be  convicted ;  when  lo  ! 
and  behold  !  a  witness  was  brought  forward,  who  astounded 
and  confounded  all  by  proving  an  alibi.  This  was  a 
German  grocer,  who,  under  solemn  oath,  in  the  face  of 
God  and  man,  firmly  and  directly  asseverated,  that  at  the 
time  the  murder  was  committed,  the  prisoner  was  in  his 
company,  at  least  half  a  mile  from  the  scene  of  the  horrid 
transaction,  and  that  he  and  the  prisoner  did  not  separate 
for  an  hour  afterwards. 

What  though  the  judges  and  lawyers,  the  jury  and  spec- 
tators, were  all  taken  aback  by  this  unlooked  for  testimony  ? 
— what  though  they  believed  it  false — that  the  witness  had 
perjured  himself? — yet  here  the  evidence  was  before  them 
— direct,  straight-forward,  positive,  and  unimpeached — 
and,  as  such,  the  jury  were  bound  by  oath  to  take  it  for 
literal  truth.  The  judges  and  jury  were  here  to  decide  a 
case  involving  the  life  of  a  fellow  being — not  according  to 
their  prejudices — not,  strictly  speaking,  according  to  their 
25* 


298  THE  FORGED  WILL. 


belief — but  wholly,  and  irrespectively  of  party  or  person, 
according  to  the  evidence  adduced  on  the  trial.  What 
though  they  believed  the  witness  had  perjured  himself  ? 
Their  belief  amounted  to  nothing  until  it  was  proved  against 
him ;  and  not  being  proved  against  him,  they  were  bound 
to  take  his  testimony ;  and  taking  his  testimony,  were  con- 
sequently bound  by  their  oaths  to  render  a  verdict  of 
acquittal  for  the  prisoner.  With  the  falsity  or  truth  of  the 
grocer's  statement  they  had  nothing  to  do,  so  long  as  it 
was  unimpeached  before  the  court.  The  prisoner,  most 
certainly,  could  not  be  in  two  places  at  the  same  time ;  the 
prosecution  had  not  proved  positively  he  was  the  person 
who  committed  the  deed ;  the  defence  had  proved  positively 
he  was  the  person  who  did  not ;  consequently  there  was 
but  one  way  to  decide. 

In  giving  his  charge  to  the  jury,  the  judge  brought 
forward  all  these  points  in  a  clear,  concise  and  forcible 
manner  ;  and  concluded  by  observing,  that  where  there  was 
the  least  doubt  regarding  the  guilt  of  the  accused,  the 
common  law  of  humanity  bade  them  lean  to  the  side  of 
mercy.  The  jury  then  retired;  but  not  until  some  time 
the  following  day  were  they  able  to  agree,  when  they 
returned  a  verdict  of  "NoT  GUILTY." 

This  decision  was  received  with  great  dissatisfaction  by 
the  public  at  large,  before  whose  tribunal  Acton  already 
stood  condemned;  and  so  high  ran  the  popular  feeling 
against  him,  that  it  was  deemed  expedient  to  detain  him 
in  confinement  till  the  excitement  had  somewhat  subsided. 

Throughout  Acton's  trial,  poor  Arabella,  who  had 
her  reason  and  sufficient  strength  for  the  task,  was  ever, 
like  a  guardian  angel,  by  his  side,  watching  every  look, 
and  cheering  him  with  what  feeble  words  of  hope  she  could 
Bummon  to  her  aid.  Her  features,  like  his  own,  were  very 
pale  and  haggard ;  and  it  was  evident  to  all  who  beheld 


CONCLUSION.  299 


her,  that  grief,  anxiety  and  keen  despair,  were,  cancer-like, 
gnawing  at  her  heart's  core,  and  wasting  away  her  once 
queenly  form.  Whatever  of  animosity  might  prevail 
against  the  brother,  not  a  soul,  with  a  particle  of  humanity 
in  his  composition,  could  view  that  noble,  self-sacrificing, 
and  almost  superhuman  devotion  of  the  sister,  with  other 
than  feelings  of  profound  respect  and  sincere  compassion ; 
and  many  there  were  who  wished  him  acquitted  for  her 
sake.  That  he  was  guilty  of  the  crime  laid  to  his  charge, 
Arabella  felt  well  convinced  ;  but  in  extension  of  the  foul 
act,  she  sincerely  believed  he  had  committed  it  in  the  heat 
of  passion,  and  had  deeply  regretted  ever  since — both  of 
.which  suppositions  were  literally  true.  In  any  event,  he 
was  her  brother,  had  always  been  kind  to  her,  and  was  the 
only  being  on  earth,  save  her  father,  she  truly  loved. 
Besides,  he  was  now  alone  in  the  world,  without  a  sympa- 
thising friend,  and  she  could  not  bear  the  terrible  thought 
of  his  coming  to  an  ignominious  death.  At  least  she  was 
his  sister,  she  had  a  right  to  be  with  him,  and  she  felt  it 
her  duty  so  to  be ;  and  regardless  of  the  opinions  of  »the 
world,  she  flew  to  his  side,  to  stand  his  steadfast  friend, 
let  weal  or  wo  betide.  More  dead  than  alive,  she  was 
present  to  hear  the  verdict  of  the  jury ;  and  when  the  final 
words,  "  not  guilty,"  were  pronounced  in  an  audible  voice, 
she  swooned  for  joy,  and  in  an  unconscious  state  was  borne 
from  the  court  room. 

But  Arabella's  devotion  ended  not  here.  She  resolved 
to  share  his  fortune,  whatever  it  might  be ;  and  though  the 
Rev.  Mr.  Parkhurst  tried  with  all  the  arguments  in  his 
power  to  dissuade  her  from  it,  and  offered  her  a  home  for 
life ;  and  though  Edgar,  who  had  now  come  into  possession 
of  his  father's  property,  so  long  and  wrongfully  withheld 
by  his  uncle  and  her  father,  proposed  to  settle  upon  her  an 
independency ;  yet  all  propositions  were  alike  made  in  yam. 


300  THE   FORGED   WILL. 

She  firmly  but  respectfully  declined  to  accept  of  either ; 
and  when,  soon  after,  Acton  secretly  left  the  city,  Arabella 
was  his  companion,  and  went  no  one  knew  whither. 

And  now,  the  design  of  the  present  volume  being  accom- 
plished, here,  for  a  time  at  least,  ends  the  history  of  the 
family  of  Atherton.  The  final  fate  of  father,  son  and 
daughter  belongs  to  a  subsequent  period ;  and  it  remains 
for  the  public  to  decide,  whether  the  writer  of  these  pages 
shall  ever  again  call  them  from  obscurity  to  the  stage  of 
action,  or  allow  them,  with  all  their  virtues  and  vices,  to 
rest  forevermore  in  oblivion. 

Immediately  after  the  conviction  of  Oliver  Atherton, 
Nathan  Wesley  left  for  parts  unkown  ;  while  Davis  returned 
to  his  friends  in  Baltimore,  where  Edgar  generously  settled 
upon  him  an  income  of  a  thousand  dollars  per  annum. 

Some  two  or  three  weeks  from  the  acquittal  of  Acton 
Atherton,  a  brilliant  array  of  wealth,  beauty  and  talent 
were  assembled  at  Malcolm  Place  to  solemnize  the  nuptials 
of  Edgar  and  Edith,  Clarence  and  Virginia ;  and  though 
evtjry  thing  was  conducted  on  a  scale  of  sufficient  magni- 
ficence to  excite  the  envy  of  the  proudest  of  the  beau  monde, 
yet  so  true  were  Malcolm  and  Courtly  to  their  noble  prin- 
ciples, that  the  poor  of  the  city  long  had  cause  to  remember 
that  day  with  gratitude,  as  in  truth  they  still  have  their 
generous  benefactors. 

On  the  second  morning  after  his  marriage,  Edith  handed 
Edgar  one  of  the  leading  journals?of -the  city;  and  pointing 
with  her  fair,  delicate  hand  to  a  prominent  paragraph, 
blushingly  bade  him  read.  Edgar  did  read ;  and  his  eyes 
dilated  with  surprise,  and  his  heart  swelled  with  pride,  at 
the  following  brief  notice : 

"  MARRIAGE  IN  HIGH  LIFE. — At  Malcolm  Place,  on  the 
5th  inst.,  by  the  Rev.  Stephen  Parkhurst,  Clarence  Mal- 
colm, Esq. — long  and  favorably  known  to  the  literary 


CONCLUSION.  301 


world  as  a  leading  writer  of  the Magazine,  and  a 

frequent  contributor  to  various  other  periodicals,  and  in 
private  life  as  philanthropist,  gentleman  and  scholar — was 
united  in  the  holy  bonds  of  wedlock  to  Miss  Virginia 
Courtly,  a  niece  of  Oliver  Atherton,  whose  trial  and  con- 
viction, for  the  forging  of  a  will  of  her  father,  by  which 
both  herself  and  brother  were  long  deprived  of  their  rightful 
possessions,  recently  excited  so  much  surprise  and  attention 
in  this  city.  Also,  by  the  same,  at  the  same  time  and 
place,  Edgar  Courtly,  Esq. — a  nephew  of  the  said  Oliver 
Atherton,  but  better  known  to  our  readers  as  a  gifted  poet, 
under  the  nom  de  plume  of  "Orion" — was  united  to  the 
lovely  Miss  Edith  Morton,  only  child  of  Calvin  Morton, 
Esq.,  a  lawyer  of  great  eminence.  The  wedding  was  a 
brilliant  one — all  the  talent  and  fashion  of  the  city  were 
present — every  thing  went  off  delightfully — and  the  joyous 
couples  have  our  most  ardent  wishes  for  their  future  pros- 
perity and  happiness." 

"  God  bless  you,  my  son  !"  cried  Morton,  stealing  up 
behind  Edgar  while  he  was  reading  ;  "  you  were  becoming 
famous  without  my  knowledge." 

"  Ay,  and  without  my  own,"  returned  Edgar,  blushing. 
"Ha!  here,  methinks,  comes  the  cause,"  he  added,  nod- 
ding toward  Clarence,  who  at  this  moment  entered  the 
apartment,  accompanied  by  Virginia. 

"Well,"  answered  Malcolm,  with  a  smile,  as  Edgar  ex- 
plained the  subject  of  conversation,  "  you  know  I  purchased 
your  poems,  and  of  course  felt  I  had  a  right  to  use  them  as 
suited  my  humor.  But  you  are  still  more  famous,  Edgar, 
than  you  have  given  yourself  credit  for.  Read  these  at 
your  leisure ;"  and  he  threw  down  upon  the  table  some 
half-a-dozen  different  journals,  each  of  which  contained  a 
highly  complimentary  notice  of  himself  and  friend.  Edgar 
was  by  no  means  vain— but  he  could  not  drink  in  so  much 


302  THE   FORGED   WILL. 

praise  of  his  humble  efforts  and  remain  totally  unmoved. 
The  main-spring  of  a  laudable  ambition  was  touched ;  and 
mainly  to  this  circumstance,  the  world  has  since  been  in- 
debted for  many  a  beautiful  effusion  from  his  gifted  pen ; 
'while  Clarence,  under  an  assumed  title,  already  ranks 
among  the  leading  writers  of  America. 

And  now,  kind  reader,  we  feel  that  our  task  is  accom- 
plished. In  the  pages  preceding,  we  have  endeavored  to 
show  you  how  vice  may  for  a  time  triumph  over  virtue  ; 
how  hypocrisy  may  take  the  place  of  truth,  and  deceive  the 
world  with  its  false  glare ;  how  the  innocent  and  pure  at 
heart  may  be  made  the  suffering  victims  of  the  guilty  and 
vicious ;  how  crime  may  lie  concealed,  until  in  its  very  se- 
curity, it  breeds  exposure ;  how  retribution,  sooner  or  later, 
follows  guilt,  and  strikes  with  a  heavy  hand  the  guilty  doer ; 
how  a  deviation  from  the  straight  paths  of  virtue  and  honor 
generally  leads  to  ruin  and  death ;  how  the  poor,  without 
friends,  may  struggle  in  vain,  and  die  unpitied  ;  how  good 
actions  may  proceed  from  the  seemingly  bad,  and  bad  ac- 
tions from  the  seemingly  good ;  how  the  innocent  may  be 
accused  and  arrested  as  guilty ;  how  the  guilty  may  escape 
the  justice  of  the  law  as  innocent ;  how  a  noble  act  gene- 
rally finds  a  noble  reward ;  how  true  virtue  gives  way  to 
no  temptation,  but  bears  the  ills  of  life  with  patience, 
hoping  for  a  better  day,  and  rejoices  triumphant  in  the  end. 
In  short  we  have  endeavored  to  sketch  a  true  picture  of 
life  as  it  exists  in  the  crowded  city ;  and  though  aware 
that  the  sketch  is  faintly  lined  and  faulty,  yet  if  it  please, 
so  far  as  it  goes,  we  shall  rest  satisfied  our  humble  efforts 
have  not  been  wholly  made  in  vain.  With  you,  gentle 
reader,  rests  the  moral  of  our  story ;  and  so,  for  the  pres- 
ent, adieu. 

THE    END. 


I 


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